


The Lambs

by bluelamia



Category: The X-Files
Genre: 2012, Abduction, Action/Adventure, Colonization, Gen, William's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-17 14:31:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 182,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluelamia/pseuds/bluelamia
Summary: Liam van de Kamp's life is turned upside down the day two FBI agents kidnap him and his parents. Who are the agents and can they be trusted? Before he knows it, ten-year-old Liam is caught up in the greatest threat humanity has ever known. And for some reason, Liam seems to be at the very center of the adventure.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a colonization adventure told from a child's perspective (excluding the prologue), and includes strong language, depictions of violence and gore, and themes that may upset. Spoilers for anything up to I Want to Believe. Originally posted at fanfiction.net under the name So Kiss Me Goodbye.
> 
> Dedication 
> 
> For Megan and Melissa  
> I can't think of anything better to offer  
> Two such great friends  
> Than a tale which has at its heart  
> the greatest of friendships  
> Lamia

August 7, 2011  
6am EDT  
1600 Pennsylvania Ave  
Washington, D.C. 

_The stroke of this pen will kill millions._

A sudden burst of birdsong filled the office: the first calls of the day.

He hesitated, the pen poised to strike. He wished he could ask how it had all come to this. Who let this happen. What could be done to stop it.

The time for questions had ended.

He'd had his chance and, like his predecessors, he'd chosen silence; it was the only path with any hope offered.

Besides. In the heady days before his inauguration, when euphoria was sweeping the country, the tiny coda in the three-page report had seemed more like a parting practical joke from the outgoing administration than any real threat.

It was too late to beg at the feet of Mercy. He wished he were still innocent.

The birds continued their early morning chorus.

The sheet of paper in front of him had passed through many hands, been analyzed and deconstructed by the sharpest minds. Even as it was forwarded on to the next expert with a sickening shake of the head from the last, he had held onto a bottomless sense of hope. Not until his most trusted adviser put her keen eyes to it and read with increasing terror did he plumb the depths of that hope and find it wanting.

That had been only yesterday. His wife had retired early, unable to find for her sadness any cure better than restless sleep. He had stayed up. Perhaps if yesterday never ended, today would never come. Last night he had been scared, yes, distraught, yes, horrified by the promise of the future, undoubtably, but he had still been ready to fight. Today he felt ... nothing.

The birds went on singing.

It was a single page, only sixteen lines long, but it would defeat him: it and the pen. And the ink.

_The ink is blood red._ He shivered.

He was not alone.

They surrounded him. As he sat in his chair, staring at the simplest and most bureaucratic of weapons, they stood. Impassive. Shoulder to shoulder, giants in khaki.

The walls of his office rose immense; his desk stretched endless in front of him. In a room he was used to dominating, he'd never felt so insignificant. He huddled in his chair. A speck of mortal dust.

There was no pretense here—these were no faked, black-suited politicians or aides. They were soldiers: a military force bent to the purpose of a stronger opponent. They knew it, and now he knew it, too.

He lingered over the piece of paper. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, or just refused to sign it, they would vanish.

His hesitancy provoked no response. No human cough to hurry the proceedings. No barked order forcing him to dash the pen to the paper.

They hadn't even threatened him. Or his family. They didn't need to.

He looked at the pen again. A pink ballpoint.

If it was contempt, it was most exquisitely expressed. He would have to sign his name to the document with the humblest of instruments ...

When he thought of his name, that it would be on the document forever—however abbreviated that forever may now be—the President finally broke.

A teardrop reached the paper before the pen nib did.

* * *

August 7, 2011  
12pm SAST  
Beitbridge, Zimbabwe

Blood had dribbled from his mouth and was starting to crust, but Ruud van der Veldt did not cry. He didn't have time.

A voice was blaring from tinny laptop speakers. A scruffy, unshaven man with wild eyes was staring out from the screen. He was talking, but neither Ruud nor his grandfather was paying attention.

"One more piece, O _upa_ , just here." Ruud touched the last strip of exposed flesh on his torso. He spat another bloody mouthful into a bowl.

His grandfather nodded and tore off more duct tape. The old Afrikaner was biting back a comment. He was taking this hard.

"We all agreed, O _upa_. This is the best option—probably our only option, in fact."

"If this fails others will try," the older man replied.

God knew, Ruud didn't want _to have to_ do it—but inside he was glad. Glad he hadn't backed out, glad he would play his part. And by God, he was going to play it and blow it out of the water— _or, more correctly,_ _out of the sky_...

The scratchy voice from the laptop filled the room. The man on screen was gesticulating and his mouth was moving but not in sync with the sound.

_"Later on, guys, we'll talk about things you can do to prepare for December 22 next year—but now I'm gonna continue our series about the man who risked everything to warn the world about the threat we face. Folks, we're up to part three, and tonight we're going to hear about the efforts of the American government to shut down one of their own—"_

Ignoring the webcast, the old man smoothed the tape over his grandson's skin and the wires crossing it.

"This is an old man's mission, Rudi," he said. His eyes shone with pain as he touched the bulky canisters strapped across his own back and stomach.

"I value your life more than you do, it seems—"

Ruud opened his mouth to protest only to be silenced by a look from his grandfather.

"Everyone does what he needs to do to protect his home. Your elders gave you the gift of life—your gift to your elders should always be a life lived. They give it ... you treasure it. The living—"

"—are the hearts of the dead." His grandfather's favorite saying: it was a beautiful sentiment but that was all it was.

And anyway. Age was immaterial. That was why he had agreed to this plan, this act of war. Age had not dictated who could and who could not do their task. That had been the first thing the group rationalized. When the list of possible candidates was whittled down, it was obvious—painfully so to the old folk—if the plan was to work both old and young would be needed to execute it.

The web feed was cutting from one grainy shot to another, the voiceover drawing some connection between the images, which focused on a youngish man speaking on a panel forum.

His grandfather eased a loose t-shirt then a woolen sweater over Ruud's head. Despite the pain from his do-it-yourself dental surgery, Ruud's ever reliable stomach rumbled. There was little point eating lunch today, and he had been too busy to think of breakfast. Besides, that meal, too, had seemed pointless.

His stomach rumbled again loud enough for his _o_ _upa_ to hear.

"Let's at least try to act normally," the old man said, tearing a hunk of loaf. "We don't want to give _anyone_ the impression anything is amiss, do we?"

He might have been discussing a day on the farm, but Ruud heard the fear. He knew better than to laugh at it. If his grandfather had spent a lifetime looking over his shoulder, he'd had good reason. With his special gift of knowing, Hans van der Veldt contributed an essential ability to the scheme. If _they_ were about, he would know. Because he always knew—had always known—when they were coming.

Suddenly Ruud was overcome with a need to put his arms around his grandfather.

Hans had already suffered in this life—the loved ones he'd lost, the violence of politics, the powerlessness of abduction—yet nothing had broken his will, his defiance, his love of life and all those who shared it.

The explosive devices they had attached to each other made one last hug impossible.

Here they were, ready to explode, eating sandwiches like nothing important could possibly be happening today and then—there it was. The moment when Ruud might, for the first time in years, let down his guard. Cry.

His chance was cut short; his grandfather stiffened. On screen the man had jumped out of his seat and was ducking in and out of the frame. His voice still came through strong, though. Ruud and Hans were all attention now.

" _This is it, folks. It's been an honor to serve you, but the jig is up. As I speak—can you hear that? As I speak they're ramming my door."_

His tone was urgent but matter-of-fact. He spoke over the sound of breaking glass and deep, rhythmic pounding. He reappeared on screen, shuffling sheaths of paper.

" _Ah ... I can't see them yet, but we all know what they want. There's nowhere left for me to go, but one of you out there—one of you, I know—will take up the mantle. Remember the plan, guys. If you believe, remember the plan, stick to the plan—"_

A muffled crunching, picked up by microphone and broadcast across the internet, stopped with a drum-splitting squeal. The laptop's speakers crackled with distortion.

The man stood in profile. His jaw hung open. It was impossible to know what he was seeing.

" _They've breached the door, they've breached the door."_ His shoulders rose as he took a deep breath and fixed a penetrating stare on the camera.

_"Stay strong,"_ he said, _"or, as I've learned to say here,_ kia ka _—_ "

The screen was a blur of military fatigues as the man was jerked beyond the scope of the camera lens. It went black. The feed had been cut.

Ruud's grandfather shifted. "Rudi," he said, "contact the others. Quickly. It's time!"

Ruud snatched the cellphone from the counter. The message was preset. He hit send and the little sending animation flickered on the screen. "It's done, _Oupa_."

His grandfather put a hand on his arm, his smile broad and pained. "I'm proud of you, Rudi."

Ruud wrapped one hand around a detonator; with the other, he clasped the old man.

Against a whirring hum, he heard his grandfather whisper. "This will be the greatest moment of my life."

The old man squeezed Ruud's hand when a familiar whistling started in his head and the room began to disappear in a coruscating light.

_Come on, bastards! N_ _ot this time. Never again._

* * *

August 7, 2011  
6:02am EDT  
Washington, D.C.

The bird calls were dying out.

As he lifted the pen from the page and stared hard at the name in front of him, the President was already asking forgiveness from the crowded nation—no ... the crowded planet—in his mind, crying out for vengeance.

At the same time, just two blocks away, a man carrying a brief case was leaving the District Building. His ID had already given him security clearance to the floors that housed the state adoption Information Department.

His rifling had been thorough and meticulous. He would leave no prints, no hair fibers, no sloughed skin cells—but who would know to look for those clues anyway? The one file he had wanted was where they told him it would be. One file no one would notice was missing ...

Except, someone _did_ notice.

Madeleine Fawbert had thrown herself into her work after her husband died two years before and when she arrived at her office early on Sunday morning, her sense of disquiet was overwhelming. Somehow she knew exactly where to look to test her feeling of unease.

Her keycard gave her access to a restricted room and her eyes went straight to the cabinet where one particular file had been deliberately buried nearly a decade ago. A drawer was ajar. Not by much—no one else would have noticed.

She refused to panic.

Instead, she nudged the drawer in, backed out of the room and shut the door. She went to her desk, sat down, made a few calls and checked her email. Then, when she had a grip on her fear and an hour had passed, she reached for her smartphone.

She prayed she did not make any mistakes with this call.

The phone rang only three times before a sleepy voice answered.

"Walter? Hello, it's Madeleine ... oh, sorry, did I wake you? Yes, it is early, isn't it? Silly me. Say, I was just going to catch up with some paperwork today but I can't really bring myself to touch it. I've been thinking a lot about Bill and, well, it would be nice to talk to someone. I'd love to take you up on that breakfast date if you can spare the time. Meet me for coffee in our usual place?"

He'd agreed—there was no way he wouldn't. After all it was the day _he_ had been preparing her for.

She only hoped their conversation hadn't sounded too stilted to tip off any surreptitious listeners.

Because like the President, the Afrikaners, and the stranger who had disappeared from the internet, Madeleine Fawbert knew _exactly_ what was at stake today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A mother's love is something  
> that no one can explain,  
> it is made of deep devotion  
> and of sacrifice and pain"  
> A Mother's Love, Helen Steiner Rice
> 
> And the tears come streaming down your face  
> When you lose something you cannot replace  
> When you love someone but it goes to waste  
>  _Fix You_ , Coldplay

* * *

Part 1

August 9, 2011  
Tessa  
Lincoln County  
Wyoming

If he waited long enough, he could almost _will_ them to swim into his hands. This was a truth ten-year-old Liam van de Kamp believed.

For minutes the sun and panting dog were the only things that moved. Grass tickled his legs; he resisted an urge to scratch. Instead he kept still, kneeling at the pond's edge. The dog moaned and lolled her head; Liam was a statue.

A crow flew overhead. The dog's eyes tracked its flight and Liam watched its reflection glide over the pond. It passed inches from where his hands were dipped into the water.

The image was fleeting, moving quickly from the mirror edge. Summer's heat had left the pond a quarter of its normal size. Liam's gaze flicked back to the life teeming just beyond his fingers.

In his heart he knew he was too old for this.

He also knew this was the last summer of his childhood. He did chores now, of course, but next summer he'd be expected to help with more serious tasks around the farm.

Liam wasn't lazy. He wouldn't begrudge his father several hours a day out of his summer vacation, but the thought of trekking along endless fences, checking and repairing posts and wires, filled him with sadness. There was still so much to be seen, so much to wonder at and explore, that any time pulling him away from it seemed … unjust. He tried the word on inside and out. It wasn't new to him; it had just never applied to anything in his world before.

It wasn't that he was being disloyal.

His dad was staunch and funny, his mom, kind and patient. They listened to him when he felt frustrated: no raised voices, no uncontrolled anger. His parents were always on the sideline cheering him on, wincing when he took a fall, celebrating when his hit won the game.

Early on Liam had felt one thing to be true: he was lucky (his mother would have said blessed). Lucky to live on the farm, lucky to be who he was, lucky to be wanted and loved, lucky to have fallen into the arms of the best parents in the world.

It was just ... there hadn't been enough time to take everything in; to examine the layers of earth beneath his feet; the worms writhing in the soil; the fine blades of grass and their even finer tentacled root systems.

The older he got, the grander (and more time-consuming) his schemes and adventures became. And the more detail he took from his excursions into the wilds of nature.

Cataloging the natural world was a superior way of spending his time to chasing cattle and feeding pigs. It was something he was much better at doing. At least, he thought so. (And if you asked nicely, the cattle and pigs didn't need chasing.)

He watched the darting shapes inches away from him.

Some had already been tempted, swimming into the pool in his hands. He let them be. He couldn't save them all and he was after another prize. Beyond the smaller ones, edging closer and closer, was the bulbous brown shape he had been sizing up for ten minutes.

_Come on, come on._ He concentrated all his brain power, mentally nudging the tiny creature. Coaxing it to trust him.

Sal tensed, snapping grass stalks. The tadpoles scattered. The dog whimpered, turning doleful eyes on him.

Liam bit down on his urge to swear. More old words he was developing a new appreciation for—but ones he knew he wouldn't be practicing at the dinner table.

"S'okay Sal." His arms were steady and, remarkably, the tadpole was still basking just beyond his fingertips.

His patience was rewarded; it shimmied into his hands.

"Gotcha." With a practiced swing Liam sprang to his feet.

Freeing the tadpole in the bucket, he sealed its fate. It flitted around its temporary home before it calmed. Liam peered down to study the creature. It was losing its tadpole shape. Four dark nodules could be seen through translucent skin; four nodules that would soon stretch, flex and break through membrane to form four limbs. It was perfect. Liam couldn't wait to start recording details of the young frog's development with his mother's digital camera.

As he brushed himself off, slapping his hands dry against his thighs, he looked up. A dust cloud billowed over the road in the distance.

He raised his hand when he recognized the vehicle approaching.

The pickup pulled in, and a man leaned out the open window to holler at him.

"What you up to today, Liam?"

Paul Stanaway was a family friend and lived on the next farm over. Liam liked talking to Stan; every time they met, the gruff old man always asked about Sal and Blue and Twig and all Liam's other animals. Today started no differently.

"Hello, Sal," Stan said. "Hope you're keeping young Liam out of trouble."

The labrador's tail thumped the truck's door as she came up alongside Liam.

"She's been helping me with my summer project."

Liam hoped Stan would ask him what that project was. He hid his disappointment when the old man didn't.

"Your folks expecting company today, Liam?" Deep crinkles about his eyes and mouth appeared.

Liam scrunched his face up. "Don't think so."

"Well, there was a real shiny, fancy car clogging up your driveway when I went by five minutes ago. Don't think I recognize it. You don't have a pretty, sophisticated aunt your mom hasn't told me about, do you?"

"I've only got Great Uncle Ted and I've never heard anyone ever say he was sophisticated."

"That isn't your uncle's car, that's for sure." Stan grinned. "It's lunchtime—hop in. I'll drop you out back, and you can slip in and get yourself cleaned up. If you _do_ have company, I doubt your mother would appreciate you turning up like a swamp monster."

Liam glanced down at his stained t-shirt and grimy shorts. Streaks of mud caked his shins. Stan had a point.

"Alright," Liam said. "But only if you've got room for a new friend of mine."

Stan groaned when Liam produced the bucket. He muttered "frog spawn" under his breath. Liam knew it was all for effect. He whistled to Sal.

"Get, Sal," he said, signaling her to jump on the back.

Stan laughed again. "Sal's alright. She's got better manners than you and she's cleaner. I oughta make you get in the back."

Liam clenched the bucket between his knees and leaned over it to prevent water slopping over the sides. Not that he was really worried. Stan might look rough but he drove the truck like he was escorting a dying king. They talked about tadpoles the two-mile trip home, and Liam explained his reasons for collecting this one (to learn more about them; to save at least one from the colony's evaporating habitat; to have fun).

They took the back entrance up to some farm sheds behind the house where Stan swung wide, giving them a view to the front and the car he had mentioned. It was white. Except for a splatter of mud around the wheels, it looked clean.

Stan spotted something else as Liam was pulling on the door handle.

"Virginia plates," he said. "You folks got family back east?"

Liam was doubtful. "Maybe."

Stan tapped a furious tattoo on the steering wheel; his other hand went to his chin. When he noticed Liam still next to him, he seemed surprised.

"Better scram, kid. And make sure you find a lid for your bucket. Blue's got a look in her eye that says tadpoles make a tasty meal."

A cat had sauntered along the side of the house and was on her haunches by the steps leading up to the back door. Liam eyed the cat—and the cat eyed the bucket.

"Thanks, Stan," he said as he headed to the house.

Liam was met by his dad stepping into his boots on the verandah. His dad waved at Stan, then cast an appraising look over him.

"Where do you think you are taking that dripping bucket, young man?"

"I gotta put Jerry some place safe, Dad, otherwise Blue might get him."

The slim gray cat was licking her paws at the bottom of the steps.

"Jerry, huh?" his dad said. "If you let any of that slime drip on your mother's floor, you might be looking for a safe place of your own. Why don't you go see in the tool shed if there's anything more suitable to put him in. I'm just going to have a quick word with Stan."

He was striding away when Liam called out. "Dad, who's visiting?"

"Be with you in a minute, Liam."

They called it the tool shed, but ever since Liam could remember it had been the place where they stored old stuff. Murky light seeped in when he pushed on the door.

Broken crockery shared shelf space with an ancient and warped tennis racket and several rusted flashlights. A fragile wicker hamper poked out from under a stack of magazines. Liam shoved the magazines aside and opened the case. He'd had memories of it when he was much smaller. He could see why his mother had banished it years ago; it wouldn't be much use as a picnic basket anymore—not with half its contents missing. Most of what remained was chipped, cracked and discolored with age. But it did have a tall plastic cup. And the plastic cup had a soft plastic lid.

An idea formed and when he fastened on to the hammer and a nail the idea became a plan.

It took a minute. Liam scooped up Jerry and pressed the lid on top. Peering into a hole he had punched, Liam watched the tadpole swim about. He felt bad about the confusion he was causing the tiny creature. He sent it reassuring thoughts and tried to explain his intentions weren't bad and he hoped they could be friends. There wasn't much the tadpole could do to indicate the message was understood. Liam hoped for the best and took his handiwork outside to get his father's approval.

His dad was still talking to Stan—but not about the mysterious, out-of-state car.

"He's marked to be a vet or a botanist of some sort, Harry." Stan was leaning against his vehicle. "He's a natural. It's almost spooky the way he is with animals. Take Sparky."

At the crunch of Liam's sneakers on gravel, Stan stopped. Liam held up the cup. "This'll work for the time being, Dad."

Although he pretended he hadn't heard, Liam wondered what Stan was talking about. One memory stood out but how was it "spooky"? Did Stan mean the day Sparky, his dad's oldest and best work dog, got hit by a van on the driveway?

It had been an accident. His dad and Stan had been there, racing to Sparky before anyone else. When they stood up, his father shook his head.

_No no no no._ Not Sparky. While the two men had gone to talk to the driver of the van, Liam knelt by Sparky and ran his hands over the dog's head.

He'd looked up when his father called to him but kept his hands flat against Sparky's fur, willing the dog's tail to wag and his eyes to open.

It had ended when Stan put his hands on Liam's shoulders and asked him to let Sparky go.

"He's gone, Liam." Long, gnarled fingers wrapped around Liam's upper arms, restraining him. When Liam wouldn't stand, Stan crouched.

"Is there something you feel you can do for Sparky?"

That was exactly how he felt. Liam struggled to see Stan for the tears stinging his eyes.

He jumped up, sending stones flying with a vicious kick. "I should've been able to do something!"

It had been a long time ago. _What made Stan bring it up?_

Mr van de Kamp was finishing his conversation with Stan. Liam mumbled goodbye, and then the old man's pickup was disappearing down the drive.

His dad grinned when he examined the cup and lid.

"I think we oughta have called you Jem, son," he said. "You've always got an idea. What? Your mother hasn't made you read that book yet?"

Liam wasn't worried about the books his mother made or did not make him read. There were more pressing matters to be discussed.

"Dad, who's visiting?"

Everybody knew just about everybody around Tessa; strangers made everyone talk.

"Who are they? Where are they from? Are they long lost relatives?"

"Oh boy, Liam, are you in trouble!" his dad said. "We've got more than just visitors. We got ourselves a visit from some federal investigators. You got a license to collect baby frogs?"

Federal investigators? The FBI? They investigated things like murders and bank robberies, didn't they? Liam sized his father up. His dad's face was straight. Too straight.

"You're lying."

His father put his hand on his heart. "I do not tell untruths, Liam. At this very moment, there are two FBI agents sitting in our living room, here to discuss a very serious matter."

"Their car didn't say FBI."

His father leaned in and clapped him on the back. "Maybe they're undercover."

"Dad ..." It was Liam's turn to be offended. He might have believed the ruse two years ago but he was ten now and liked to believe he was not as easy to trick.

Liam toed off his shoes and waited for his father to remove his boots.

"Don't believe me then," his dad said. "But make sure you wash your hands before you see your mother. She will _not_ be happy if you disgrace the family name!"

Liam waited a minute before he crept to the bathroom. He could hear voices and chinks of mugs.

"Does that mean everything's in order, Mr—" That was his dad's voice.

"Let me check the paperwork again, Mr van de Kamp. Just to make sure we haven't missed anything. The Bureau wouldn't want to waste anymore of your time with another unnecessary visit."

That was a stranger—another man's voice.

"Of course." His father again. "But didn't we just go over that checklist? We certainly don't want to take up too much more of _your_ time. You've examined the secured premises, seen my documentation ..."

Was that a hint of exasperation? It took a lot to rile his father. Harry van de Kamp was usually a placid, easygoing man; the first person neighbors consulted to mediate boundary disputes, everyone's preferred ref at Little League.

Without warning his mother sang out. "Liam."

That special sense Marie van de Kamp had—the same one that knew when Liam had woken unexpectedly or had a bad day at school—must have alerted her. She was calling him and he knew better than to ignore her.

Wincing as he re-examined his fingers and the dirty crescent slivers under his nails, he walked into the living room.

His mother let out an exaggerated sigh. "Oh, Lee."

A woman and a man, both in dark suits, sat ramrod straight on the sofa. Papers were spread across the coffee table in front of them. Their gazes were trained on him. A fraction before the whole situation became uncomfortable, the man's pocket beeped. The woman flinched.

The man's brow furrowed as he read a message then passed the cellphone to the woman. She gasped.

"Mulder—" The room iced up at the tone of her voice. Liam's parents looked at one another.

The man stood, knocking the table and a cup as he rose. "This changes things."

"What—"

"Excuse me, Mr van de Kamp. We need to leave immediately."

"So the paperwork is in order?" Liam's dad asked. The man glanced at the woman. She hadn't moved.

"I'm sorry. I didn't make myself clear. We—all of us—need to leave this place. You're coming with us, Mr van de Kamp."

Liam's parents, both on their feet, broke into angry questions.

"Excuse me? Is this some sort of joke?"

"Are you arresting my husband? On what grounds?"

Liam's dad turned. "Liam, go wait in the kitchen, son."

Liam gulped. He'd never heard his dad this upset.

"No, Liam. Don't." The strange woman had spoken.

A cry escaped his mother and his father swore. Even the strange man looked horrified.

"Scully—"

The gun made an emphatic statement pointed at Liam's head.

She wasn't a tall woman, only coming up to his mother's chin, which made her only a little taller than Liam. But this wasn't a case for heroics. Jerry's cup was still in his hand and something about this woman told him she was serious. Her hands were shaking. Liam's father edged forward, perhaps to lunge at the lunatic aiming a gun at his son. Her finger curled around the trigger. He froze.

"Please don't hurt my son. What do you want? Do you want money? Cash? We've got—"

The strangers didn't wait to hear what valuables the van de Kamp family had.

"Ten minutes, Mulder." The woman may have been deranged, but the gun didn't waver against his head. "Please. Get them out of here."

Liam's parents were motionless. His mother swallowed. "Please don't do anything rash."

The man flicked aside his jacket, revealing a second gun. "Are you on any medication? Anything you'll need in the next twenty-four hours—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw the woman shake her head. "No time, Mulder."

The man looked at her again; a beat later he nodded. "I'm sorry it had to come to this. It is supremely important that you leave this house, right now, with us. You are not safe here."

"You're not kidding," Liam's father said.

"Harry, let's just do as these people say." Liam's mother inched back, never taking her eyes off Liam. She took her husband by the arm.

"They look like reasonable people. Agent ... Scully, is it? Perhaps if we go out to your car you'll be able to take the gun off my son?"

"Please." The woman whispered the word with relief.

"Liam, please do as the lady says." It was the last thing his mother said to him before he lost sight of her.

When they were alone, he forced himself to look at his kidnapper. She still had a finger on the trigger but her head was bowed. She let out a long breath and her shoulders sagged.

"You're name is Liam." She spoke to the floor.

"Yes."

When she lifted her chin, her intense blue eyes bored into him.

"Well, Liam, I need you to understand. I would _never_ hurt you—but I very much need you to go out to my car."

Her knuckles were white against the gun.

"Yes, ma'am."

He thought he heard a groan.

Cup in hand, he walked through the house and out the front door. His parents were already jammed in the back of the car. The man stood by the driver door. Liam moved to join his parents, but a light hand on his shoulder made him stop.

"No, Liam. The front." The gun hung in the woman's hand.

The strangers looked at each other.

Liam couldn't decipher the look. He did as he was told, sitting stiffly next to the driver's seat, his hands clamped around Jerry's cup. The man got in beside him. Absurdly, the man turned and smiled. Liam shrank away.

A noise made them look right.

The woman had doubled over by the steps, dry-retching. Her heaving stopped but she made no move to rise.

"Scully—"

It took long, painful seconds for her to pull herself up. "I'm okay."

She didn't look okay. Her breathing was ragged like she'd been chased by a bull from one end of the farm to the other. Her walk to the car was unsteady.

But her eyesight was sharper than Liam would have guessed.

He had no time to be shocked when she reached in, gun still in one hand, and pulled the seatbelt over him. His skin tingled when her hand brushed his arm.

When she climbed in the back, she said nothing. His parents kept as still as they could. Liam risked a look behind him. Space must have been tight, but there was a gulf between his mother and the woman.

Key in the ignition, the man fired up the engine.

"This way." He was studying the drive that lead behind the house to the farm's secondary exit. "Does it get you to the main road?"

"No," Liam's dad said.

The man craned his neck one way, then the other. "Your life, Mr van de Kamp—"

"It takes you round the back way to Tessa. You can avoid the main roads entirely. I'm telling the truth."

Liam burst out, unable to contain himself. "My dad always tells the truth."

The man stared at him. Car in drive, they shot forward.

They were following the route Stan had driven down minutes before. When they passed Sal's kennel, Liam saw her pacing up and down her kennel run. She was barking furiously.

He heard a heavy intake of breath behind him and knew it came from neither his mother nor his father.

As they hit the long, dusty road where Liam had been playing only this morning, he decided he was not scared. Confused—yes, but scared? _Well, maybe just a little bit._

He looked down at the cup in his hands.

_Guess this is how you feel, Jerry? Sorry._

His mother cried out, and Liam's heart thumped against his ribcage. She had twisted in her seat to see out the rear window.

A thick, dark plume funneled skyward.

"Harry, that smoke ..."

They were too far away to know for sure where it was coming from, but Liam didn't need to be told what it meant.

Nothing had ever filled him with dread before. It was another word he'd never really had cause to consider. Not anymore though.

He shivered.


	3. Chapter 3

August 9, 2011  
I-80  
Wyoming

Stark landscape rolled by in ceaseless, ceaseless monotony.

They traveled an hour or more along back roads before doubling around to a busier route. Liam jiggled under the oppressive silence filling the car.

The strangers hadn't demanded silence. Not exactly. They just didn't answer any of his parents' questions. After a hasty conversation in which his father told the man how to bypass Tessa's closest town, Kemmerer, talk dried up. The strangers didn't speak, not even to each other.

Liam glanced over his shoulder every now and then. His parents remained rigid, gripping hands. When he caught his mother's eye, she gave him a compressed smile and an even tinier shake of her head.

Liam's knuckles ached from squeezing the cup. After an hour in the car, he became aware the man was giving him, or—more likely—the cup, sideways looks. Once the man opened his mouth as though he was going to say something. But he didn't. The unnatural quiet pressed harder.

Liam didn't like the silence, but it had gone on so long it seemed no one knew what to do about it. If he tried talking, maybe he wouldn't seem as much of a threat. _But do I really want to talk to this man?_

The man wasn't scary or menacing; in fact, he'd been super polite—apologetic, even—about pulling his gun out. But that hadn't stopped him using it to get his own way, and that made Liam wary. His dad had taught him how to load and fire a rifle years ago. Along with the fun, he'd learned the responsibility. _And_ the respect.

_"_ Guns aren't toys, Liam _,"_ his dad had said. _"_ I never want to catch you pointing one at another person. Even if it's just in jest. Even if it isn't loaded."

The strangers obviously didn't know that rule—or they were just plain bad, because what decent person would threaten a kid with a gun?

And yet, nothing else about their behavior seemed "bad." Except for the whole kidnapping thing. Liam was sure that's what this experience was, though all the kidnappings he'd read about always involved rich kids being taken by crazy people to get money from rich parents.

These people were certainly crazy—even if they looked normal—but his parents weren't rich. _Where are they taking us?_ Why _are they taking us?_

They weren't alone on the road. He watched for on-coming traffic in the hope one was a patrol car. _Should I try to get someone's attention?_ Whatever they said there was no way these strangers could be police or FBI or any other kind of law enforcement officers.

Concentration became harder as he squirmed in his seat; two needs were starting to override any plans he had been developing. He sighed when his mother picked up on his growing distress.

She cleared her voice with a small cough. That got everyone's attention.

"Agents, if that's who you are, surely you don't intend to keep driving much longer? Children have needs ..."

Liam blushed and at that moment his stomach rumbled. Under other circumstances he would have made an old joke about the monster in his stomach demanding to be fed. Another concern popped into his head. Embarrassment and hunger forgotten, he had to speak.

"Dad, who's gonna look after Sal and Blue and all the rest of the animals?"

He scrambled around, fighting his seatbelt. His mother touched his hand.

"Don't worry about the animals, Lee," she said. "Stan will know something is wrong. He'll look after them until we get back."

The strangers said nothing. Moments passed. _Are they going to ignore us?_

The man began without warning. He took his eyes off the road to look at Liam. "If I pull over in Wamsutter—that's about three miles away—can you hold on until then?"

Liam glared at him. "Yes."

His mother squeezed his hand. "There's no need to be surly, Liam."

It was such a mom thing to say. They were being kidnapped and taken to who-knows-where, and his mother was siding with the bad guys?

"But Mom—"

"I raised you with better manners than that, Liam van de Kamp," she said.

Angry with his mom, Liam pulled a face before settling back in his seat. Why should he have to be polite to these people? They didn't deserve it.

He knew why his mother had said it. "We don't need to let how others treat us dictate how we treat them," she had once told him.

When she spoke again he was relieved; she was still on his side. "We need more than a bathroom stop. None of us has eaten since breakfast and that was more than eight hours ago."

"There's got to be a convenience store in the next town," the woman said.

It's truly impossible to forget when someone right behind you has a gun in their hand, but the woman had done a good job of rendering herself invisible. Even the man did a double-take when she spoke.

"We'll stop for ten minutes. Everyone gets a chance to stretch their legs, but—I'm sorry—Mr and Mrs van de Kamp, you must stay with Mulder. Your son stays with me."

_But you're a stranger!_

It was the opening Liam's father needed.

"Ma'am, at some point you're going to have to tell us something. For goodness sake, who are you? Why are you doing this? You burst into our home and tell us our lives are at stake and then swing that gun around to make your point. At least tell us who you are."

"It's difficult—"

"I'm not sure—"

It didn't sound right; it was like they had no idea what they were doing. Had they ever kidnapped anyone before or was this their first time?

The woman left it to the man to explain. Only, he didn't; instead, he posed a question.

"Do you know anything about genocide, Mr van de Kamp?"

Liam's father snorted. "You mean personally?"

Liam sounded the word out in his head. Homicide, pesticide, herbicide, insecticide—four "cide" words that usually ended unpleasantly for something or someone. _Do I want to hear this?_

"No, no." The man shook his head. "Take genocide and extermination. Do you know the difference between those words?"

"I'm not much of a word connoisseur, Mr Mulder, but I'd say one was just a fancy way to say the other."

"Genocide Watch lists eight stages a nation or region goes through in the lead up to and aftermath of genocide." The man checked the rear vision mirror. "First off, typically, these stages involve classification—where you promulgate a 'them versus us' attitude against the group, race or culture you aim to ostracize. Then comes symbolization. Hitler made Jews don yellow stars long before he began herding them into the gas chambers at Auschwitz."

Liam _thought_ he understood most of what the man was saying. He had heard about the gas chambers.

"At some point those people take on other names. We come up with dehumanizing terms—pigs, maggots, vermin—we set ourselves above them and encourage ourselves to believe it doesn't matter: 'They're not human, they don't really feel anything,' we might say.

"It makes the next stage so much easier to accept—when we surrender our values, our basic decency, and fail to question the formation of militia, organized armed groups with no obvious wars to fight anywhere. These groups brutally discipline and brainwash themselves, and the word spreads. More and more voices find their hate speech has an audience primed and willing to listen to the radical calls for division and 'solution.' Land is 'reclaimed,' property, possessions appropriated, freedom to move curtailed. Lists are made ... and the last thing you want, Mr van de Kamp, is to find your name on one of those lists."

"Jesus, Mulder."

"Are you suggesting my name is on some sort of list?" Liam's dad asked. "What list?"

The man ignored him. "On the other hand, Mr van de Kamp, extermination is when you pour gasoline down an ant colony and throw in a lighter—maybe for no reason other than the colony was in your way."

Liam shuddered for the ants' sake. His clutch on Jerry's cup tightened and he renewed his vow to protect the tiny creature. He'd been raised on a farm—some animals were born to be dinner, some were pests to be shot—life and death went hand in hand with the land, and being a dispenser of death was a farmer's responsibility. It was not taken lightly.

His dad wasn't rattled. "And your point is ...?"

"Given those scenarios, who would you rather be? An ant or a Jew? Or an Armenian, or an Aborigine, or Bosnian Muslim, or a Kurd or Tutsi or Hutu—"

"I think Mr van de Kamp gets the point, Mulder," the woman said.

"I'm not sure I do," said Liam's dad. "But I'll have a go. I wouldn't want to be any of those options. But thinking about it, you could argue all those human groups you mentioned—maybe there were signs they could have read. Maybe they had a chance to look for a way to escape. The ants, though? Never saw it coming."

"Exactly." The man—Mr Mulder—slapped his hands on the steering wheel.

Liam pictured Jake Landsbury deliberately torching an ant nest. They called him Snake at school. Liam had no trouble imagining the cruelty on Snake's face as he flooded the helpless ants' home and struck a match.

The imaginary figure grinned and waggled it in a challenge. He had black lidless eyes and a rippling smirk. He was inhuman, like some kind of animal Liam had never seen. Liam shook his head, trying to banish the image.

His father waited a minute before trying again. "I'm not really sure how this applies to our ... situation."

Mr Mulder let out a fraught laugh. Liam had trouble recognizing the punch line.

"That's the problem, Mr van de Kamp. I don't know _which_ word applies to our situation. Neither's desirable, as far as I'm concerned, but if it turns out to be the second ... God help us."

"If it's alright with you, Mr Mulder—perhaps we could have this conversation another time?" Liam looked around the seat again. A sheen of sweat had broken on his mom's brow.

For perhaps the first time on the journey, the woman turned toward her hostages. Before his mother could cringe, the woman held her hand against his mother's forehead.

"I'm a doctor," she said when Liam's mother went stony and swatted the hand away.

"So you're a doctor now, are you? No, thank you. This morning you were an FBI agent, which now seems laughable. You'll forgive me if I struggle to believe anything you say."

Liam rarely heard his mother snap; she had a point, though. Whatever else this woman was, she had to be a liar—and liars weren't tolerated in the van de Kamp family.

The woman made no effort to protest. She shrank into her corner and stared at her knees. It was the most unpleasant moment they'd had in the car.

"Scully's the most honest person I know."

The way the man said it—a shrug of his shoulders, a curl of his mouth, just telling them basic fact—tore into Liam's certainty. _He sounds so genuine._

"Then tell us what's going on," Liam's mom said. She had leaned forward again to address Mr Mulder as if she knew the woman wouldn't answer her.

Did that spur the woman into action? She stirred, her head lifting. "You're not safe."

Liam's mom fixed a stare on the woman, refusing to look away until the woman said more.

"Your lives are in danger." The woman wasn't being dramatic. "If I tell you from what, I don't think you'll believe me—and that will make the situation worse."

Liam read the quandary on his parents' faces. This woman was a liar—a dangerous liar; there couldn't be any truth to what she was saying. Yet the doubt and uneasiness his parents felt was clear. There was something very strange about their situation—a strangeness which made the woman's unexplained threat all the more possible.

His mom sighed. "Ms—Dr? Dr Scully—I don't even know what to call you—you're asking us to put our faith in you. I'm a woman of Faith but that doesn't make me a fool. In this car, with my son where he is, you have my undivided attention, but eventually you are going to have to let us out, and if you expect any of us to get in again without a fuss, you'd better come up with a more convincing story than dire threats and oblique references to genocide and extermination."

Neither Mr Mulder nor the woman gave any sign of they were listening or were worried about what the van de Kamps planned to do. The landscape rolled on, flat, thirsty and featureless, except for an occasional far-off hill. The road-sign stuck out like a beacon.

"There's a town coming up—Wamsutter!" Liam was ashamed he couldn't keep the excitement out of his voice. He really wanted out of the car, if only to get away from the unpleasant battle being waged. There was enough static electricity inside to set off fireworks on Independence Day.

"We do this the way I said." The woman could have commanded rain to fall in the desert. He knew only one other person to wield so much authority with so little effort.

Liam had never seen anyone outdo his mom in the "do-as-I-say" department. He wanted her to fight back, but she didn't or couldn't. He didn't like it.

It wasn't hard to stay still as the car slowed and they drove into Wamsutter's empty main street—if it could, indeed, lay claim to the title.

The familiar sign of a gas station was the only advertisement or evidence of life in town. There were a few dirty SUVs around but no one on the streets at all. The man pulled in.

"Liam, when the car stops," the woman said, "you and I are going to go ask the attendant if we can freshen up. Your mom and dad are going to stay safe in the car with Mulder. I need you to promise me you aren't going to do anything foolish."

Liam looked to his mother; she closed her eyes and sighed, shaking her head. Liam could only nod.

He felt guilty when he took his first step and stretched. Still cooped in the back of the car, his parents did not look happy. His dad's brows drew together like a heavy, dark thundercloud. Liam wanted to talk to them, to tell them not to worry, he was just going into the gas station and he'd only be a couple of minutes, but before he could say anything, he felt a hand press against his back, guiding him into the small service area.

When the bored-looking attendant raised his head from the magazine he was reading (which he stowed under the counter when his eyes flicked over Liam), Liam knew he had an opportunity. All he had to do was scream or maybe kick out at the woman. Trouble was, he would have felt a bit stupid doing it—like a baby. And, to be honest, he wasn't sure the man _would_ realize something was wrong. He might just think Liam was a spoiled brat.

Overthinking cost him; by the time he screwed his face up, preparing to launch his tantrum, the man was handing a key to the woman and telling her to head round the side of the building. She thanked him.

A small tut escaped her mouth when she peered into the restroom. There was room enough for just one toilet and a tiny sink. Everything, from the flush lever and paper dispenser, was covered in black grease. There were greasy smears on the walls.

The cubicle was stifling and when Liam tried to turn on the faucet to wash his hands, it was so stiff he couldn't make it budge. He wiped his dry hands on his shorts before stepping out.

The woman pounced.

"Here." She squirted gel on his palms. He recognized it as the same sanitizer his mother always kept in their car. "Rub this over your hands."

Without thinking, he said, "Are you really kidnapping us?"

She hissed and whipped around. Although there was no one else on the forecourt, she put a finger to her lips. "Liam, hush. I asked you not to speak."

She hurried him back to the car. As Liam got in, Mr Mulder and his parents got out. Liam waved once at his mother when she looked at him from the corner, then she was gone, round the side of the building. His parents returned in minutes. They had followed his lead, doing nothing to draw attention to themselves.

Finally Mr Mulder went inside.

As he waited, Liam picked up Jerry's cup from where he'd left it on the floor in the shade. The tadpole hovered in the water, giving an occasional twitch as though he was working out what was happening. The man returned carrying a plastic bag.

Then they were all in the car again and it was pulling out of the station; the stop seemed no more than some sort of desert mirage.

Instead of driving back to the interstate, they headed in the opposite direction, toward what looked like a whole lot of nothing—just more of the same endless desert they had been driving through for several hours.

They hadn't gone far down the road when the man pulled off it again. "We're stopping here for ten minutes so you can have a break and something to eat."

He reached for the bag at his feet.

"Sorry, folks. The selection was limited." He rummaged in it before withdrawing an assortment of candy bars and packets.

"Tell me there's something actually fit for human consumption in there, Mulder."

"How can you ask that, Scully?" He grinned, pulling out a red packet. It was the one thing he kept for himself.

"What's that?"

Mr Mulder stared at Liam. "You've heard of sunflower seeds, right?"

"Oh," said Liam.

"Not a fan?"

Liam couldn't put a finger on why, but Mr Mulder appeared crestfallen.

"No."

Lies were out but Liam had no compunctions about telling a half-truth, and he wasn't worried about hurting his kidnapper's feelings. The truth was he'd never tried sunflower seeds, so he had no idea if he liked them or not. It gave him a thrill to know he had the power to disappoint the man.

The van de Kamp family divvied up the goods. They got out of the car and the woman made no move to stop Liam when he set Jerry's cup down in the shade of a large rock and followed his parents.

Wamsutter was a good mile behind them, and only grass-covered plains lay ahead. There was everywhere to run and nowhere to run. His mom put an arm around his shoulder.

Despite the distance (Mr Mulder and the woman were still at the car), Liam's dad spoke under his breath.

"They have to be taking us somewhere—and one or both of them will have to sleep at some point. That may be our best chance at getting away. If it's you, Liam—if you get that opportunity—I want you to run to the nearest phone, quick. That's what I'll be doing if I get away. Take a good look at their plates and them. Memorize everything you can about them. But Liam—"

Liam's dad waited until Liam was looking straight at him. "If they pull their guns out again, do not argue, do not struggle, and just do what they say."

Liam nodded. "What do you think that smoke back home meant?"

His dad took a deep breath. "I don't know. I wish to God I did."

"Who do you think they are?" His mother hadn't taken her eyes of the strangers. The man was waving his arms about; it was impossible to tell what they were discussing. "I can't get a read on either of them. She pulls a gun on a child, then makes sure he does his seatbelt up? He marches us out to a car, talks cavalierly about massacres and then apologizes for the snacks?"

Their kidnappers were an equation that didn't add up. Liam chewed his thumb tip as he studied them from afar. The woman now had her back to Mr Mulder.

Liam's mother crossed her arms. "What if they're telling the truth?"

"Occam's razor, honey," Liam's dad said.

"One should not increase, beyond what is necessary, the number of entities required to explain anything," Liam said, adopting his best scholarly tone. It was one of his dad's favorite sayings. Liam had been reciting it since he was six.

"I know what it means, smarty pants," she said. Liam wasn't expecting her to laugh. "But, all things being equal, isn't their explanation the simplest?"

"No way," Liam said.

She smiled again. "And why is that, young man?"

He grinned. "Because they're crazy?"

"Crazy _or_ telling the truth, neither makes me very happy." His father scratched his chin. He circled, taking in the vastness of the plains. "We could risk running now, but what would that force them to do?"

When the strangers beckoned, Liam's dad led them back. "Remember, memorize everything."

At the car the family faced off against Mr Mulder and the woman.

Perhaps the man could see their stubbornness.

"We got off to a bad start. You deserve a better explanation than the one we've given you"—the man held his hand up when Liam's dad started to protest—"I want you to know some things are true. My name is Mulder and this _is_ Dr Dana Scully.

When no one interrupted, he went on. "We once were but are now no longer federal agents although we have maintained ties with the Bureau. As dramatic as it sounds, we've been sent to save your lives. I can't tell you what danger you face. If you ever get close enough to see the threat that imperils you, I suspect my mission will have already failed. This sounds unpleasant. It has to. I don't know any other way to do what's expected of me."

Liam had to marvel. He'd never heard anyone use the word imperil in conversation.

"Okay," said his father. "What happens next? You should be able to tell us where you're taking us?"

The man screwed up his face and sucked in a breath. "I wish it were as easy as that ..."

"What Mulder means is, we're waiting for instructions on where's the best place to take you." The woman (Liam couldn't bring himself to think of her as doctor anybody) was scowling. Something had upset her. "Perhaps you've noticed this day hasn't gone quite to plan ..."

"Without alarming you," Mr Mulder said, "I think we'll be staying in Wamsutter for the night."

Frustration leaked from Liam's father's voice. "You think?"

"I'm going to take your son with me to look for suitable accommodation. I want you to stay with Scully. As far as anyone's concerned, you're just three tourists who've stopped to admire the scenery."

Mr van de Kamp looked like Mr Mulder had just asked him to admire the great artwork on the walls of the restroom at the gas station.

"Why can't one of us come with you? You don't trust us with all your secrets. I don't exactly trust you with my son."

"For the simple reason too many of us will attract unwanted attention, Mr van de Kamp," the woman said.

"You walk in looking like that and you can guarantee you're going to stick out like a sore thumb," Liam's dad replied, not to her, but to Mr Mulder.

"I'll fix that." Mr Mulder walked around to the back of the car. He popped the trunk and fished around, returning in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Fit right in now, won't I?" he said with a wolfish grin. "Ready for some exercise, kid?"

Liam didn't know how he felt about walking with Mr Mulder. He didn't like being separated from his parents but he didn't get the impression Mr Mulder meant him any harm. Maybe he could learn more about Mr Mulder? He looked to his father.

Liam's dad's face was dark. "Be careful, son."

As they set off, the doctor called out. "No unnecessary risks, Mulder."

He put a hand up to acknowledge her but kept walking. His pace was quick and his legs long; Liam had to trot to keep up with him.

"Liam—about this accommodation we're about to find. Your parents aren't likely to be too happy about our—ah—method of appropriation? It might be better if we wait until later to tell them how we got it."

_What does that mean?_

If there was one thing he liked about this man, it was his peculiar way of expressing himself; he was a challenge to work out.

"So ... you really don't like sunflower seeds?" Mr Mulder asked. His interest was real. They had about a mile to walk before they'd hit Wamsutter again. This was Liam's chance to get more out of the man.

"Maybe," he said. "Honestly? I've never tried them before."

The red packet was thrust in front of him.

"You'll be an expert in no time, kid."


	4. Chapter 4

August 9, 2011  
Wamsutter  
Wyoming

Wamsutter was a skeleton town. Liam decided this when they reached its outskirts and Mr Mulder led him past two side streets.

Finished houses were white boxes arranged in rows. Every second house was just timber framing—no workmen in sight. Bits of loosened building paper flapped in the breeze. Grass heads rustled.

"Did they forget to finish these houses?"

Away from Liam's parents (and the woman), Mr Mulder was lighter, jokier. And he was answering Liam's questions.

It was an opportunity for Liam to find out more about his kidnapper; for example, Mr Mulder was from Virginia, somehow worked for the Government, and was an expert sunflower seed-eater.

Liam had no trouble making Mr Mulder talk. He even seemed happy to ask his own questions: about Liam's school, Liam's favorite subjects (science, math and astronomy) and the different animals on the van de Kamp farm.

They stuck to safe topics. Liam didn't want to risk Mr Mulder clamming up the way the woman did. His comment about the houses in Wamsutter seemed safe enough, yet Mr Mulder didn't answer. The man broke his stride, scanning both sides of the street and giving no sign he had heard Liam's question.

"Have you heard your mom and dad complain about the price of gas these days? Or how the cost of fertilizer's skyrocketed?"

"I guess."

"Do you know what most people do for work in this town?"

Liam took in the buildings and empty yards. If people didn't work in town, they had to be off working somewhere else.

"Mining and stuff?"

"That's right. BP expanded their operation here about six years ago to meet increasing demand for oil and natural gas. More work meant more workers—and a need for more housing. That was until the cost of extracting the oil rose exponentially and it tipped the $100-a-barrel mark, dampening demand."

"So suddenly they didn't need all these houses because they didn't need so many workers?"

"There's a bit more to it than that but ... pretty much. You've got a good mind, kid. There's plenty of politicians who couldn't connect the dots as quickly as that."

Liam ignored the compliment. "So they just left the houses? Unfinished?"

"Looks that way, doesn't it?"

They resumed their walk. Liam still had no idea what they were looking for. A motel, he supposed.

"Where exactly are we going?" It couldn't hurt to ask. Mr Mulder was much friendlier now; he might give a real answer.

"It'll be safer if we stay here tonight. That means we need somewhere to sleep. Unless you want to sleep under the stars?"

Liam tried a little bravado. "Could if I had to."

Staring at a house with more of a garden than any they had seen so far, Mr Mulder replied, "Your mother might have something to say about that—"

Liam looked down the street but saw nothing unusual. There was nothing. Mr Mulder set off again. Without checking to see if Liam was keeping up, he raised another subject. "You play sport?"

"I like soccer best but baseball's cool, too."

"Baseball, huh? Got a favorite team?"

"The Mariners."

"Favorite player?"

"Tris Speaker." Liam was used to having to defend his choice. He waited for the inevitable scoff.

Mr Mulder whistled low. "Unusual selection."

"Lots of people didn't like him, but I think he was the greatest center fielder ever," said Liam.

"Do you know why some people might not like him?"

Liam shrugged. "I think he hated Catholics or something."

"Is that so?" Mr Mulder said.

"But I don't see how that can be so bad—being Catholic, I mean. Mom says you shouldn't hate anyone just because they believe in a different religion—even Catholics and Muslims," Liam said.

Even though he felt his mother's view was the right one, it created a moral problem. "But, then, if you don't like someone, isn't it wrong to lie and say you do? At least that way you know where you stand with a person. Besides, what's hating someone got to do with baseball?"

"I guess you're not Catholic then—despite your Irish name," Mr Mulder said. They walked on further, Mr Mulder scanning each house they passed. "Your mom sounds like a sensible lady."

"Yeah, I've got the best mom in the world."

Mr Mulder picked up his pace. They had reached solid pavement now. The houses were more established here. Some had real-looking gardens with high shrubs instead of just low wire fences and patches of grass.

The houses with trees looked older. The trees gave them more individuality. And protection—which was what Mr Mulder was looking for.

Liam soon learned what Mr Mulder had meant by "appropriation" and he had to agree—his parents weren't going to be happy.

The house was set well off the street behind a wall of trees. By the time Liam saw it, Mr Mulder was halfway across the road.

When Liam caught up, Mr Mulder was rifling through a handful of mail. He checked both sides of the letters before shoving them in the mailbox.

"Let's check round the back," he said.

Liam hesitated. Curtains were pulled across the front windows, and the grass in the yard was growing over a path which led to the front door. "It doesn't look like anyone's home ..."

"Looks that way, doesn't it," Mr Mulder said. He put his hand out, directing Liam ahead of him.

Liam got the same uninhabited feeling from the backyard as he did from the front.

Tall trees—probably the tallest in Wamsutter—enclosed the property. It was impossible to see next door. The lawn was overrun with weeds.

Liam spun around at the sound of glass breaking. Mr Mulder had just jabbed a glass panel on a door with his elbow.

"What are you doing?"

Mr Mulder reached inside; Liam heard a click.

Like a bucket of icy lake water tipped over his head, Liam remembered where he was. He had been kidnapped by crazy people, forced into a car and driven a hundred miles from home. Now he was aiding a criminal breaking into a house. His curiosity stopped him from running to find a phone. Truth was, strange as this day was turning out, he'd forgotten he was being kidnapped.

Mr Mulder's head popped around the door frame.

"Come in, Liam. It's not safe outside."

Liam stared at the open door; his voice came out squeaky. "Am I going to go to jail?"

"Only if you have the bad sense to get caught," Mr Mulder said.

He had left it too late to run. There was little else to do than duck under Mr Mulder's arm.

A blast of air so hot hit his face he backed out, but Mr Mulder was already swinging the door shut.

They were in a kitchen and it was baking.

Nothing was out of place. There were no plates or cups on the counter, and no mail or magazines either. There was furniture—a kitchen table and chairs, a TV—but nothing personal to say who lived here. A refrigerator hummed in the corner.

Liam was unwilling to move beyond the threshold. "What if the owners come home?"

"It's just a guess but I suspect they're on vacation," Mr Mulder said as he took out his cellphone and started texting. He paused to look in the refrigerator.

"See if you can find a cup," he said, pulling out a clear plastic bottle.

Liam couldn't shake the feeling the police were about to burst through the door and order him to put his hands up. Reluctantly, he opened a cupboard. When he found some cups, he put them on the counter. Mr Mulder poured water from the bottle.

Liam's mouth was dry and the cup was irresistible. He reached for it. "What are we going to do now?"

"I've just sent Scully a message. This is where we're going to spend the night."

Liam took a sip. He had been preparing himself for this news, but it still came as a shock. _Why do I feel so guilty? It's Mr Mulder doing this, not me._

At Mr Mulder's suggestion they explored the house. Liam followed less from curiosity and more from a lack of knowing what else to do. Where Mr Mulder strolled through each room, Liam tiptoed, afraid to make the floorboards creak.

The house wasn't big. Beyond the kitchen and dining area, it was just a living room, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Black and white photographs lined the hall, and two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves were crammed with paperbacks. Everything looked neat but worn; the rooms were clean and uncluttered.

With just five strides, Liam walked from the end of the hall to the front door. Mr Mulder stopped by him to examine it. He turned to a large wooden sideboard, and putting his back to it, pushed it hard against the door.

"That'll stop anyone getting in," he said.

 _Or anyone getting out_.

In one of the bedrooms, Mr Mulder sneaked a look through a curtain and then told Liam to stay where he was. He disappeared for seconds—Liam heard the door shut, so he knew the man had gone outside. When he came back he was smiling.

They returned to the kitchen. Liam couldn't bring himself to sit on a chair. He stood next to the kitchen table fiddling his thumbs while Mr Mulder positioned himself near a window.

As the minutes ticked by Mr Mulder's smile began to droop. It was gone by the time he started pacing. He was at the door in an instant when they heard the soft purr of an engine.

The woman must have brought their vehicle up the drive.

Liam heard faint pops as car doors shut. Mr Mulder stood at the entrance (shielding the broken panel) as Liam's mother bustled past him. She swept Liam up in a hug.

"Are you okay, Lee?"

"I'm fine, Mom."

The woman stepped inside but didn't smile back. She surveyed the house with a raised eyebrow.

"Just whose house is this?" Mr van de Kamp scowled when he took in the cups on the counter. His face went harder at the glass at Mr Mulder's feet. The cleanup wasn't as thorough as it should have been.

"I don't know. Probably Terrence Smith's since his name was on all the mail I found." Mr Mulder didn't sound disturbed by guilt. "Let me preempt your next questions.

"Yes, I have, with impunity, broken into Mr Smith's house. Yes, this _is_ where we will be spending the night. And yes, breaking in was necessary to ensure your family sleeps safely tonight. And a bonus yes ... there's cable!"

Liam's father was getting better at containing his surprise. "Okay." His voice was flat.

_I bet there's a lot more he wants to say._

The van de Kamp family was shuffled into the living room area where Mr Mulder told them to stay seated. As they passed through the hallway, Liam's father noticed the sideboard pushed against the front door. He didn't say anything, but Liam knew he'd check it out as soon as he was able.

The woman talked with Mr Mulder and then left. A metallic screech was followed by the familiar revving of an engine. Liam guessed she had driven the car into a garage on the property.

She reappeared in the doorway, announcing she was about to make something for dinner and did mac and cheese sound alright?

No one voiced any objections.

"Would you like some help, Dr Scully?"

Liam's father shot his wife a look.

She shrugged. "More flies with honey."

Appearing not to notice their exchange, the woman shook her head. "That won't be necessary."

Mr Mulder remained in the living room, and the silence that had plagued the car ride earlier threatened to develop again. Liam's mother sat balanced on the edge of the couch.

The forced silence was odd because Liam had had no trouble talking to Mr Mulder before. Liam had never been in a situation where he was forced to be a peacemaker between adults. The idea of another strained hour didn't thrill him.

Spying the TV remote, he jumped up. "Who's going to win the game tonight, Mr Mulder?"

He had the grownups' attention.

"My money's on the Astros," Mr Mulder said with the hint of a smile.

"Against the Redbirds? With Josh Abdul hitting the way he is this season? No way."

"Abdul can hit the ball alright, but let's watch him face off against Jimenez." Mulder's smile disappeared. "That boy's from out of this world."

"Another one, Mulder?"

The woman stood in the doorway. Mr Mulder nodded and her face fell.

Looking down on Liam, she said, "The Cardinals don't have a chance—"

"What would you know?" Liam said.

Still in her heels and black suit (despite the heat), she was like no one he'd ever encountered. The way she looked at him and spoke to him—as though she was assuming a familiarity between them that did not exist—annoyed him.

For a kidnapper, he liked Mr Mulder, but the woman? Tingles ran down his spine just thinking about her.

Her eyes were downcast when she spoke not to Liam, but to Mr Mulder. "I think you should tell them."

Liam's mother tensed and his father reached for her hand.

"Are you sure, Scully? I mean is now the right—"

"There was never going to be a right time, Mulder. I think we've always known that ... deep down." She spun on her heels, returning to the kitchen. Whatever Mr Mulder had to say she didn't need to hear it.

Mr Mulder cleared his throat. He looked at the ceiling, then he looked at the floor, then he looked at the ceiling again.

"In a little over a year, extraterrestrial beings, with complicit human military personnel, are set to begin a large-scale invasion of the planet for a purpose that has not fully been explained to me yet."

The wave of his hands forestalled Liam's dad.

"The aliens, using human and alien DNA, are producing an army of supersoldiers. They look human—they once _were_ human but they no longer are. Not in their sympathies. They can not be killed by any normal means. They are, essentially, indestructible. Certain people possess a genetic predisposition to—"

The laughter was so loud Mr Mulder was forced to stop. Liam's dad was doubled over, his face going red as he started to wheeze. Yet it sounded hollow, and Liam wondered if his dad was doing it for effect.

"All this"—Mr van de Kamp swept his arm—"because of ET? We're committing a felony, breaking into some poor man's house, you've abducted my son, my wife, me, all because you think little green men are invading our planet?"

Mr Mulder didn't drop his gaze. Liam's dad's last gasps petered out. Neither Liam nor his mother joined the conversation.

"Yes."

Liam's parents shared a look.

"As I was telling you, certain people with a particular genetic makeup are targeted for assimilation. Our own government has been detailing genetic info on every single American who's ever had an inoculation since 1947. Their intentions may have been to sabotage our invaders' plans.

"Unfortunately, it appears our government has greatly overestimated its ability to rule the galactic sandbox. When I talked about genocide and lists, Mr van de Kamp, I wasn't trying to scare you—I was trying to recruit you."

"Recruit me?" There was no laughing now.

"You're having trouble believing this, aren't you? It took me eight years to convince Scully—that's a luxury you don't have. I wish you did."

"So my name is on a list? An assimilation list?" Liam's dad drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair.

"If my name was on a list"—he patted his wife's hand—"and they were coming for me today, which is what I think you are implying?"

Mr Mulder dipped his head in confirmation.

"Then right about now, I guess I'd be undergoing their ... assimilation procedure? And because you've implied their actions are stealthy for the time being, I'm guessing they are trying to avoid detection or exposure to the general public?"

Mr Mulder looked impressed. "That's about it."

"Presuming you hadn't turned up in the proverbial nick of time, what would have happened to my family?"

"Most of the assimilated go home, and while their families often sense something isn't right, there's very little they can do. Replicants can function marginally in their hosts' original role. But it doesn't pay to confront them—their loyalties are no longer human. Their instincts appear to be to kill on any detection. Your wife and son would have been in danger. If not today, then certainly when their suspicions outgrew their natural inclination to trust you."

"Mr Mulder, where was that smoke coming from? If they were aiming to avoid notice, why set fire to my house?"

A black and white photograph of machinery on the wall appeared to distract Mr Mulder.

"I can't be too sure"—he turned back—"but I suspect whoever was sent to collect you didn't react too well to finding you gone. And that, Mr van de Kamp, is worrying, because until now I'd always assumed the replicants were emotionless. Setting fire to your house seems to me to be an extremely emotional response."

"Could you be wrong?"

"I wish I was."

"You do a lot of wishing, Mr Mulder."

"Oh, believe me, I'm very careful about what I wish for," he said. "It's possible one of your neighbors saw too much, it could all be coincidence, or maybe you'd like to think an accomplice of mine blew up your house to make our story more plausible."

"There's that, certainly," Liam's dad said.

An image jumped into Liam's head: a battered pickup reversing down the drive.

"Dad," he said. "Stan!"

Mr Mulder looked to Liam's dad for an explanation.

"Our neighbor. He dropped Liam off at lunchtime." Liam's dad's sounded troubled.

"You saw him leave?"

Mr van de Kamp shook his head.

"Then there's no point panicking."

The woman arrived with the rattle of cutlery. She set knives and forks on a coffee table in front of Liam's parents. If she had been listening in on Mr Mulder's explanation, she made no mention of it.

"I'm sorry. I don't know how it's going to taste. Only the packet stuff in their cupboard looked usable. I had to make it with milk powder and the water here has an acrid taste."

She headed out again, returning with two plates, which she set on the table next to the cutlery. Her actions earned a smile from Liam's mother, and Liam again wondered what they'd said to each other in the desert.

"This looks lovely. What do you say to Dr Scully, Liam?"

His scowl was automatic. "Thank you."

The doctor prickled. She was like a porcupine being needled. Not that he'd ever poked one. That would be cruel.

His mother frowned at him and he knew he was going to get a talk later about his lack of manners. _I don't care. I don't poke animals—or tease or hit them—because they don't pull guns on me or upset my parents._

Liam knew something bad had happened at their house today. But until he heard otherwise, he refused to believe anything bad had happened to Sal or Blue. The house could burn down, but none of the animals were house pets and none of them would have been near the building if it was on fire. Wherever they—and Stan—were, he hoped they were okay.

He shoveled a forkful of macaroni into his mouth and chewed. A different sort of pit in his stomach opened and he scrambled to his feet.

His mother gaped in alarm. "What is it?"

"Jerry!"

She looked at his father in confusion.

"The tadpole he caught today."

There had been no time to introduce his mother to the baby frog yet.

His father shook his head. "Where did you have him last, Liam?"

"I put him down by the car when we stopped. I know where he is—I can find him!"

Racing to the door, he ran full tilt into the woman, who was balancing three more plates. Somehow she kept them upright.

"What's the problem?"

His mother explained about the tadpole.

The woman didn't move from the doorway when Liam pushed around her. "I can't let you go, Liam, sweetie. It's not safe out there."

"Don't call me sweetie."

Her voice went frosty. "You are not going out there, Liam. I am very sorry about your tadpole, but he'll just have to take his chances."

Anger rose in his chest. "You think he's dead—or as good as. Well, he's not. But if Jerry _does_ die, it'll all be your fault."

The plates in her arms wobbled and clattered. "You called your tadpole Jerry?"

"It's better than your stupid name."

His mother gasped. "Liam, that will do."

Dr Scully closed the door and pulled a chair in front of it. As signals went, it was about as loud as bells and barriers at a train crossing.

Whatever his parents thought of Mr Mulder's story (and while he liked the man, Liam wasn't convinced by it and knew his parents wouldn't be either), they gave nothing away; the strange couple were not letting their guard down yet either.

The rest of dinner was wordless affair. Liam blamed the doctor. She sucked the warmth and conversation out of the room. He ate no more than four mouthfuls and spent the next ten minutes pushing food around on his plate.

Although it was still light the doctor assessed the house's two bedrooms and explained the sleeping arrangements. The van de Kamps got the room with the double bed with a mattress pulled from the other room to make a bed for Liam on the floor. She and Mr Mulder would take turns sitting in the room to make sure the family didn't try to escape.

His parents didn't put up any argument; Liam wondered if they _were_ plotting their escape. No one turned on the TV. After dinner Mr Mulder had answered more of his parent's questions. If they were trying to trip him up, they weren't getting very far. He had an answer for most things—even the really personal ones.

He told them about his stint with the FBI, how his job had been to investigate peculiar cases all around the country and how Dr Scully had been assigned to help him nearly twenty years ago. He admitted his nickname had once been "Spooky" because of his paranormal interests. He told them he was not married and his parents and only sister were dead. He joked he'd gone into private consultation after his sterling federal career because he had a moral objection to the Government's pension plan.

Dr Scully didn't add much to the conversation despite his mother's attempts to draw her out. Liam wanted to tell his mother it was a waste of time. The doctor did say she was now a pediatrician after tiring of forensic pathology several years ago.

Liam found that revelation hard to resist. "Yuck. Did you cut dead people up?"

That was the point when his mother decided they might as well go to bed, even though daylight wasn't done filtering through the house's flimsy curtains.

Stripped to his underwear, Liam went through his nighttime ritual to please his mother.

He felt strange slipping under some stranger's sheets, but the mattress was comfortable and his eyes soon felt heavy. They had been here for two hours at least and the police were yet to show up. Even his parents moved about more easily. He supposed they had other things to worry about. If breaking into a house was this easy, perhaps he should consider a career as a criminal.

He yawned, surprised at how tired he was.

* * *

Liam had no way of telling how long he'd been out; the room was black. A door shut and angry whispering woke him.

He rubbed his eyes. An interrogation was happening on the other side of the wall.

"Where in hell have you been, Scully?"

"You know, Mulder. You have to know. Don't make me say it." Anguish filled her voice.

Bedsprings squeaked as one of Liam's parents rolled over; Liam missed Mr Mulder's reply. The heat was going out of the conversation, and the speakers were moving away. Whatever they were saying was muffled until Mr Mulder let out an exclamation.

"Oh my God, Scully. Your neck ..."

Liam's mother (he could tell it was her by the lightness of her step) rolled out of bed and dashed to the door. It was unlocked. Curious, Liam padded after her to the living room.

A lamp in the corner cast the only light in the room. Mr Mulder held his hand under it. The hand was red. Dr Scully stood with an arm stretched behind her neck. Her eyes went wide when they fell on Liam and his mother.

"What's going on?" Mrs van de Kamp's attempts at kindness earlier might have been a ploy to get the couple talking but her concern now was genuine.

"Please," Dr Scully said, wincing. "Go back to bed."

Liam's mother ignored the request.

"What's wrong?" She went to the doctor and gasped when she pushed long strands of hair off the doctor's shoulders. "How did this happen?"

Dr Scully paid her no attention. She touched Mr Mulder on the arm.

"I had to," she said. "Otherwise they would have found us."

Liam edged closer, angling to see what was wrong with the doctor. "Mom?"

"Liam, go see if there are any Band Aids in the bathroom. Dr Scully has cut herself."

Lines of blood crisscrossed her neck.

Mr Mulder took the doctor's free hand. "Scully?"

"They were coming, Mulder. They were headed straight along my path—I have no doubt. We always suspected—I couldn't risk ... I had to do it quickly. It was my only chance to slip around them."

Mr Mulder understood what she was saying. "Your neck's raw, Scully. Like something's been raked over it. What did you use?"

From around her neck she pulled a chain. Liam made out a gold shape hanging on it: a crucifix.

"God found it for me." She started laughing. "I scratched at my skin—God found it and I threw it away. As far away as I god-damned could. It was smaller than a pin head."

Mr Mulder cringed and she clenched his hand.

"I don't think they followed me. I doubled all the way back to an RV park. The fact they're not here is a good sign, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Liam?" His mother looked at him to hurry him along. She was still holding aside Dr Scully's hair and examining the wound.

"Did you go somewhere, Dr Scully?" she asked, leading the woman to the sofa. Dr Scully didn't fight.

A cabinet in the bathroom was well stocked. Liam flung aside bottles to get to a first aid kit stuffed behind a stack of soap. He was back in less than a minute. Enough time for the atmosphere of the room to be turned on its head.

Not for the first time this day the scene before him failed to make any sense.

His mother held Dr Scully in her arms while Mr Mulder kept watch through a gap between the curtain and the window frame.

"They'd be here by now, Scully." In spite of his words, his hand remained on the curtain and he looked planted to the spot.

Over and over, the doctor rocked, repeating herself. " _He saved your life he saved your life he saved your life ..._ "

Liam's gaze drifted to the coffee table in front of her; his heart began to pound. There in a bloodied, plastic cup, safe and oblivious, swam Jerry.


	5. Chapter 5

August 10, 2011  
Wamsutter  
Wyoming

In sleep the doctor looked like a nice lady. Long lashes rested against pale cheeks; her mouth curved up, soft and kind.

She looked peaceful and Liam was glad. His own sleep had been pitiful as he twisted under his sheet. Kept awake by a powerful feeling: shame.

Now he hovered at her bedroom door, peeking in on her as she lay curled. He had to apologize. He would have done it the night before, but Mr Mulder had hurried them back to their room.

His mother had argued, pleading to stay with Dr Scully, but Mr Mulder insisted.

He followed them and watched them get into bed before shutting them in darkness. Liam heard shuffling and scraping as if something large was being shoved against the door.

The sound of deep breathing rattled from the corner. Liam's dad muttered something unintelligible, then grunted into awareness. "What's going on?"

Liam's mother was incredulous. "How on earth did you sleep through all that?"

"I fell asleep?" Liam's dad sounded annoyed. "What's happening?"

"I think Dr Scully's having a breakdown. She mutilated herself, Harry—scraped the skin clean off her own neck. She says she used her own crucifix to do it."

"What in heaven's name did she do that for?"

"That's more than I could tell you. She must have slipped outside—Mulder was angry when she came in. Wherever she was, she thought she was being followed. Being tracked."

Liam stiffened; Dr Scully's actions were starting to make sense.

"Harry?" Her hesitancy carried her concern. "She wasn't faking that terror."

_So that's terror._ It wasn't the same look little kids got at school when Snake cowed them into a corner for lunch time sport.

Liam's dad didn't sound convinced. "Paranoia, do you think? Could she be seriously ill?"

Liam scrambled upright; his mother had missed the most important detail.

"Dad, she saved Jerry. She went back to get him."

That got his dad thinking. "That may be so, Liam, but there are some kinds of sick people who are very nice but sometimes really dangerous as well. The best place for Dr Scully might actually be the hospital."

"But what about Mr Mulder? He's her friend. Wouldn't he take her to the hospital if she needed it?"

Bedding rustled. "Hush, Liam," his mother said. "If you're going to talk, keep your voice low."

"It's possible both of them are unwell, Liam." His dad was trying to be the voice of reason. "His story today sounded as paranoid as her behavior tonight. As for his so-called job with the FBI ... I'm not convinced our government would consider the policing of fairies and vampires a legitimate use of taxpayer dollars."

Liam felt a peculiar need to defend the pair, but his dad had a point.

Mr van de Kamp put a final stamp on the subject. "They were both very convincing, but if they _are_ sick, that makes them unpredictable—and _that_ makes them dangerous. We have no way of knowing what they're going to do next. That puts us all at risk."

Liam stared up into a black as impenetrable as his thoughts. So many swirled in his head he didn't know how to untangle them. Two things could be true: Dr Scully was deluded, insane. Or her fears were real.

_But either way, they_ are _real—real to Dr Scully, at least. And if they are real ..._

His stomach somersaulted. "What about the soldiers Mr Mulder talked about? What if they _are_ after them?"

"It's possible people are looking for them, Liam," his dad said. "If they're sick, hospital staff or police could be searching for them. They may believe those people want to hurt them. That doesn't mean those people want to hurt us.

"In fact, they're probably looking for us right now. If someone _did_ burn our house down, the fire chief in Tessa will be wanting to know where we are. Stan will know something is wrong. Think very carefully, Liam. Did Dr Scully do anything to start a fire while she and you were inside?"

_Her hand had been shaking. She was so quiet. She never looked up._

They weren't in the house much longer than his parents. She had walked behind him so closely he had imagined the nuzzle of the gun against his shoulder blades.

"There wasn't any time."

It was hard to believe Dr Scully had pulled the gun on him less than a day ago. He didn't like what she had done and had punished her for it all day.

_Why did she let me?_

"Dad, what about the plates on their car? Did they drive all the way from Virginia just to visit us?" That didn't make sense. He wanted his father to explain away those details.

"I can't account for that." Liam's dad sounded troubled.

His mom stirred. "Account or no, Harry, we need a plan. We need help and _they_ need help."

"Marie, I want to make a run for it. It'd be a risk, but I really don't think they'd hurt you or Liam. Hell. I'm not even sure they'd hurt me."

Liam held his breath. It was easy to laugh her story off, but when it came to taking action against her ... if Dr Scully was telling the truth ... if his father went outside and got caught ...

"If I timed it right, I could get to a phone before they knew what was happening."

His mom sighed. "Get to what phone? Not the one in this house. I noticed only one jack in the kitchen, and the phone was very definitely missing."

"It won't take me long to find one somewhere in this town. I'll head back to the gas station if I have to. Once I get away, it won't take long to get there. Heck! What are we doing waiting? We could probably just walk out if he's dealing with her."

They were alone in the bedroom—which had a window—and Mr Mulder was not in here with them.

_Why are we only just thinking of this now?_

They weren't convinced by Mr Mulder's story; there were no alien soldiers hunting them; there would be a rational explanation for everything that had happened today; there was no reason to stay with Mr Mulder and Dr Scully; there was no reason not to try escaping.

The bed springs squeaked again followed by feet on the floor. Liam winced when he heard a thump—his dad stubbing a toe on a dresser probably.

Stripes of light flooded in from the hall. Getting out was not going to be a quick or quiet affair. Mr Mulder had imprisoned them with a tall bookshelf, its ledges forming bars. They could try pushing it aside, but the easiest thing to do would be to shove books off a shelf and squeeze through the gap. It wouldn't be difficult—just noisy.

Liam's dad left the door ajar and made his way to the only window in the room.

"The opening's too high up and too narrow for me to get through, although Liam might be able to if we gave him a boost—"

He cut off when they heard a creak in the hall; Liam heard the whoosh of blankets being lifted and guessed his dad had dived back into bed. There was some scraping and shuffling, and the bookshelf shadows shuddered.

Liam pretended to be asleep when Mr Mulder entered. A heavy tread made the floorboards at the foot of his mattress bounce. A wooden chair next to the dresser groaned.

Neither of his parents said anything; his dad snored theatrically.

These irritating silences had been going on all day, and Liam was sick of them. Mr Mulder had to know they had been talking. His parents' fake sleeping wasn't fooling anyone. Besides, he was dying to ask a question.

"Mr Mulder?"

Liam heard his mother breath in. His heartbeat was loud in his ears.

A voice came from the dark. "Yes?"

"Is Dr Scully okay?"

"She will be."

"Why did she cut her neck?"

Nothing.

"Mr Mulder?"

"It's a _very_ long story, kid, and not mine to tell."

_One, two, three, four, five._ "Mr Mulder?"

"Yes?"

"Did she have an alien implant in her neck?"

"Liam!" His mother couldn't help her outburst.

"Why do you ask that?" Mr Mulder's question was slow and careful. Curious.

"You mentioned aliens, and everyone knows aliens kidnap people and put things in them. They have shows on TV about it all the time. Mr Mulder?"

Mr Mulder muttered something rude about Fox TV. "Yes?"

Liam pressed on. "Did aliens kidnap Dr Scully?"

He bit his thumbnail waiting for someone to snap. The long quiet made him think Mr Mulder wasn't going to say anything, but perhaps the man had only been trying to work out how to answer.

"Maybe you should ask _her_ that, Liam."

That was too much for Liam's mother.

"You'll do nothing of the sort, young man," she said. "Please don't encourage him, Mr Mulder. Liam knows very well such a question would be rude to the extreme. Dr Scully looks as if she could do without the annoyance."

"I don't think Scully would be offended, Mrs van de Kamp."

"Be that as it may, Mr Mulder, I'm raising my son to respect personal boundaries. Asking Dr Scully if she's been abducted by aliens doesn't just overstep those personal boundaries—it steamrollers them."

"I'm sorry." Liam believed Mr Mulder's sincerity. "He's your son. I don't want to interfere."

Liam thought that might be the end of the conversation, so he was surprised when Mr Mulder continued. "He's got a good mind though—inquisitive and perceptive—I hope he can make the most of those talents."

"He _does_ have a good mind, Mr Mulder. And he should know when that inquisitiveness is appropriate or not."

She was pulling the door shut on this conversation. The chair scraped against the floor again, but Mr Mulder had nothing more to say.

The repetitive ticking of a clock wormed its way into Liam's ear. A quick click, followed by another, told him Mr Mulder had just checked his cellphone. Somewhere a dog barked once. A car rolled by, its wheels rasping on the road. The sound disappeared into the night as fast as it came. A sudden breath of wind shook the trees. The dog barked again. Twice Mr Mulder rose and edged to the window.

Each disturbance teased Liam out of fitful sleep. He was stuck with one image in his head: fingerprints dried on the yellow cup.

Without giving him a clue, Dr Scully had snuck out to rescue the tadpole. And whatever the truth about Mr Mulder and Dr Scully was—whether they were being chased by supersoldiers or mental hospital staff—she had done it despite the risks she thought she faced.

She'd had no reason to do it. _She didn't owe me anything._

She hadn't deserved his rudeness the day before. _If_ she was sick, perhaps she couldn't be blamed for her actions. _If_ she was sick, he wished there was something he could do for her.

Frustration infected whatever sleep he did get. Frustration and shame.

* * *

He woke with his mother's hands on his shoulders and the piercing beeps of an alarm shredding the stillness; his head was full of sand. The room was still dark.

"Come on, Lee. Time to get up."

The hinges of the door squeaked, and the doorway glowed golden from the hall light. Their bookshelf bars were gone.

Sitting up, Liam stretched and yawned. "What time is it, Mom?"

His mother handed him his t-shirt and shorts. "A little after four. Mr Mulder wants us to move now. Get dressed, then go wait with Dad."

Liam pulled on his rumpled clothes. His dad was already in the living room, pouring milk from a jug into a bowl of a cereal.

"You okay this morning, champ?" Liam nodded, and his dad leaned close. "Liam, I'm going to try to escape as soon as I get a chance. I want you to stay with your mom no matter what happens, okay?"

A finger to his lips warned Liam. Mr Mulder walked into the room. He didn't appear to notice anything untoward.

There had been no time last night for anything other than a cursory glance to assure himself Jerry really was fine. Now, even though the room was only half lit by a corner lamp, Liam could see well enough to check on his amphibian friend.

Jerry hadn't sprung a leg yet. He seemed content enough, but Liam knew the tadpole would only survive a short time in his temporary home. At the least he would need more pond scum nutrients for food.

Liam scarfed down the sugary cereal while wondering how he could satisfy the demands of a growing frog. He left the plate on the coffee table (he wasn't keen on the idea of doing dishes) and asked to go to the bathroom. On his way he passed the second bedroom. He stopped.

She looked so small.

Liam stepped closer, hoping her eyes would spring open so that he could go in and get his apology out of the way. Arms behind his back, he rubbed a carpet edge with his big toe. She didn't wake. When he returned from the bathroom, no one had yet made any effort to wake her. He hovered, wondering if he should nudge her himself.

It would be a shame.

In sleep the doctor was calm. Last night her face had been haunted. Sleep soothed away that terrible expression, leaving her in a more gentle state.

His mother appeared at his side.

"Liam, what are you doing? Can you go wait with your father, please?"

While he didn't argue, he did ask, "Is the doctor coming with us today?"

"Mr Mulder's asked me to rouse her now," she said. "He wants you in the living room."

With one last regretful look at the tiny figure in the bed, Liam slipped past his mother.

For once his dad and Mr Mulder were talking freely. As Liam had discovered yesterday, Mr Mulder had no problem discussing neutral topics with his captives—in this case, the nutritional values on the back of the cereal box. When they had finished agreeing about the quantities of "junk" additives in common cereals, Liam's dad broached riskier territory.

"You were going to explain what you meant by 'recruiting' me."

Mr Mulder flicked a brief look at Liam.

"The more able-bodied people we can recruit to the cause, the better chance we give ourselves," he said. "Actually, the more people I can convince, the more chance we have of _some_ chance. If you do no more than believe me, Mr van de Kamp, I'll be a happy man."

Liam's dad rubbed his chin. "You can imagine how this looks to me. You haven't exactly helped your cause by kidnapping us."

"What would you have preferred I do? Take your family, leave you? Leave you all?"

Their conversation was interrupted by Liam's mother leading in Dr Scully.

Mr Mulder's eyes sought the doctor. So caught up by his concern, he missed the triumphant grin Liam's mother gave his father. She patted a pocket on her pants. Liam made out a small, rectangular shape. _Dr Scully's cellphone?_

"I'm fine, Mulder," Dr Scully replied to a question Liam didn't catch. Her mouth crimped as she surveyed her breakfast options. While she chewed slowly, Mulder spoke.

"We have to assume we've got people on our tail. Scully thinks she managed to evade trouble last night. But there's no guarantee they're not out there waiting for us to get on the road.

"Early shift workers will be heading out to the gas fields shortly. We'll be mixing with that traffic. Scully—you, Mrs van de Kamp, and Liam will have to stay hidden. When—and only when—I believe the road is clear, we'll continue east for a bit. I can't risk telling you anymore than that. But I think you should know something; there are more people than just Scully or myself concerned about your welfare—"

"Right. Your Washington friends." Liam's dad was doubtful.

Mr Mulder nodded.

"Our ultimate aim is to get you to a safe haven where other at-risk citizens have been relocated. By the end of this day you won't be alone—and you should have access to more answers than I can give you at the moment. I can't tell you where that safe haven is. I don't know. I won't know until it's been determined we can approach without giving away its location."

They had more questions but knew he would not tell them what they really wanted to know.

The house was straightened (Liam didn't do dishes but he did have to help move the mattress back and put his used sheets in a laundry hamper). The van de Kamps had brought nothing with them; once the house was back to a standard which pleased his mother (and Dr Scully), the family had little to do but wait for Mr Mulder to give the word.

Dr Scully sat with them in the living room. Her long hair covered the Band Aid on her neck. She had answered Liam's mother's polite inquiries into her well-being but seemed preoccupied with the abstract pattern of the house's threadbare carpet.

Liam knew there would be no better time for a peace overture. Clutching Jerry's cup to his chest, he stood before her.

"Dr Scully?"

Something sparked in her sad eyes when she looked at him.

"Thank you for rescuing Jerry. You didn't have to but you did and you hurt your neck ..." He faltered, uncertain if this was the right tack to take. His words fell out in a garbled mess. "You—I was rude to you. I'm sorry."

The change on her face was swift, like a sped-up sunrise; her eyes—so intensely blue—ignited; a smile radiated on him.

"Liam—" She might have said more but for Mr Mulder calling them all to the kitchen.

They trooped out together, with Mr Mulder directing them on to the garage. Mrs van de Kamp lingered by the kitchen counter. Liam couldn't define her expression.

"Shouldn't we leave a note? Something to explain the situation? I know breaking in wasn't exactly my choice but I do feel bad about the liberty we've taken with someone else's property ..."

Mr Mulder didn't sneer at her or laugh off her suggestion, even though he had no intention of allowing her to leave anything.

"None of this should be on your conscience, Mrs van de Kamp. As far as you're concerned, you were forced to stay here. If it'll make you feel better, send the occupants a letter one day—but I can't afford to let you leave a note."

"Why not?" Mr van de Kamp stormed in, with a rather frazzled Dr Scully in tow, the gun back in her hand. "You're leaving your car!"

"Harry?" Liam's mother said, her eyebrows raised.

"They're taking a vehicle from the garage," he said. "They've got a perfectly good vehicle of their own but they're stealing someone else's. Is there any law you don't intend breaking, Mr Mulder?"

"It's just too dangerous, Mr van de Kamp. By now, they'll know what car we've been driving. Anyway, the SUV should give you a bit more leg room."

Stony faced, Mr van de Kamp brushed past Dr Scully, marching off to the garage. If Liam's father was still planning to escape, now would be the ideal time.

_Has Dad changed his mind?_ Now that they had the cellphone all they needed was a chance to use it. Maybe his dad thought running off would be too risky.

The vehicle was cool when Liam climbed onto the back seat. The upholstery was cold against his legs, and he wrapped his arms around them to keep from breaking into goosebumps. There was a musty smell in the SUV.

The engine mocked their furtive getaway.

Before turning on the headlights, Mr Mulder reversed and waited until the road was clear to pull out. Despite the early hour, Liam could see lights far ahead of them: the early shift workers Mr Mulder had been talking about. The lights were all headed in one direction, and when their vehicle merged with the main traffic, he wondered how anyone would be able to pick them out.

"Scully, make sure they keep down," Mr Mulder said over his shoulder. "We can't risk attracting attention."

Dr Scully insisted Liam and his mother lean forward as she was doing. A blanket had been draped across the seat. She pulled it over them. It wasn't comfortable, and Liam sneezed before he could ask how long they would have to stay crouched over.

After more than twenty minutes stooped over their knees, Mr Mulder told them it was safe to emerge.

The whole experience had been disorienting. Unable to see where they were going, Liam had lost his sense of direction. It was still too dark to tell what the scenery was like. _Probably more desert_.

The adrenaline of his early morning start was beginning to wear off and his mother hugged him close.

"Tired, Lee?"

"A little." He wasn't the only one. Dr Scully had once again curled into a corner, keeping herself as distant from Liam and his mother as possible. She didn't take her gaze off Mr Mulder. After he'd corrected the wheel for the third time in five minutes, she took action.

"Mulder, pull over. You're in no state to drive."

"Scully, you don't know—"

She snapped. "Then tell me—tell me where we're going."

Mr Mulder did as he was told; the SUV slowed up. They wasted no time exchanging positions. Dr Scully adjusted the seat and the mirrors. Satisfied, she put her foot down.

"Keep going straight. I'll get more instructions when we get to Jeffrey City," Mr Mulder said.

"You'll get instructions?"

Mr Mulder twitched.

"Mulder?" There was an edge to Dr Scully's voice.

"Just stick to this road, Scully. It's the safest route we've got."

"How do you know it's the safest route? I thought the plan was to keep heading east?"

"The plan's changed, Scully. It'll be better this way."

"Skinner hasn't—"

"Skinner doesn't know," he said.

"Then who—" She clamped shut. The van de Kamp family was hanging on every word. The finer details may have escaped them, but the undercurrents of anger were impossible to miss.

Liam bet Dr Scully was seething. Yesterday it would have made him laugh. Now he felt her frustration. So ... Mr Mulder wasn't telling her everything either. Did that mean he didn't completely trust her?

Driving duties relinquished, Mr Mulder asked if he could take up some of Liam's (free) leg room. He stretched out and closed his eyes.

When another ten minutes had passed, Mrs van de Kamp motioned Liam to nudge Mr Mulder. Liam knocked his leg with a fist, pretending to squirm on the seat. Mr Mulder's eyes remained shut. Liam's mom reached into the pocket with the cellphone.

Fearful lest his mother's daring be discovered, Liam looked for a distraction. He found one in a small compartment between the front seats—old fashioned tapes. Half-expecting one of his parents to admonish him, he pulled one out. Its cover was missing.

"Dr Scully, could we listen to some music, please?" he asked, hoping his apology this morning had been enough to thaw their relationship and start mending some fences.

"What have we got?"

"I don't know. It's a mystery!"

"Why not?" She held out her hand for the tape.

He handed her the first one he'd taken.

He didn't recognize the singer or the song. It sounded old. He kept hearing the word "revolution" over and over. Dr Scully, however, must have known something about it.

"How apt."

Liam's mom timed opening the cellphone with the vibrant chorus. There was still no movement from Mr Mulder, who appeared to be in a deep sleep.

Liam's dad risked a look back at his family. With the cellphone hidden, tucked between Liam and herself, Mrs van de Kamp keyed a number.

"Not bad for modern music," Liam's dad said, directing the comment at Dr Scully. "Do you know who this is?"

Liam's plan to divert Dr Scully worked. She laughed, and asked Liam's dad for his definition of modern music.

Ducking her head, Liam's mom brought the phone up to her ear. She whispered so softly Liam could make out only basics: "Wamsutter" and "Jeffrey City," "kidnapped," "armed," and "SUV."

When the song ended, his mother lifted her head, fearful, but Dr Scully was still talking to Liam's dad, and Mr Mulder was lightly snoring and hadn't opened his eyes. Mrs van de Kamp didn't end the call; instead, she nestled the old fliptop phone—still open—next to her.

She took a deep breath and straightened, smiling at Liam. "Now we wait, sweetheart," she said.


	6. Chapter 6

August 10, 2011  
Crooks Gap Rd  
Wyoming

Nothing happened for the longest time.

The road before them sharpened as dawn broke and fingers of sunlight crept through the valleys on their right.

Liam deduced Dr Scully was taking them north but he didn't know how far away Jeffrey City was. He estimated it was about half an hour since his mother made her emergency call, although there was no sign yet anyone was responding.

It could only be a matter of time.

Liam was almost too tense to tear his gaze away from the road in front of them. Every few minutes his eyes fell on his plastic cup. Jerry was secured in a cup recess next to the tapes. _What does he make of the sensation of speed?_ Dr Scully wasn't taking this drive at a sedate rate.

The road was empty of other traffic. But for the hills in the east and to the distant north, the world around them stretched flat and boundless in every direction, fueling the illusion they were not moving at all.

The unchanging landscape was hypnotic.

What if Mr Mulder and Dr Scully were right about the aliens? What if they really knew something the rest of the world didn't? What if, overnight, the aliens had visited every town in the world, burning and killing everything and everyone? He had only seen the lights of the other vehicles when they drove through Wamsutter; how could he even be sure real humans were driving those cars? What if they were the last people left on the planet? It was ludicrous, but he still shivered. His mother took his hand and squeezed it. Her grasp was warm and reassuring, telling him not to worry because this adventure would soon be over.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that. As far as kidnappings went, he knew this one had been interesting—and mostly not in a bad way. When school started again he would hands down have the best vacation story ever—not even Suzie Craddock's trip to Disney World would match it.

Even though they hadn't gotten off to a good start, he was even coming to—kind of—like his captors.

Not that they weren't infuriating.

What would happen once the police stopped the SUV? It was just a matter of time. Prison didn't seem right. Yes, they had broken laws, but none of their actions had led to direct harm—unless he counted Dr Scully gouging her neck.

Perhaps his mom would let him visit them in the hospital?

Mr Mulder hadn't stirred since closing his eyes. Neither the music nor Liam's father's humming had woken him. His phone had buzzed a couple of times, but he was either ignoring it or too deep in sleep for it to register.

Liam wondered how the police would stop them. Maybe a road block? Maybe wait until they got into Jeffrey City? What would happen to him and his parents then? Would they have to stay and talk to the police? Would they be escorted home in a patrol car? As he added up the travel time and miles they had done, he figured they were probably only about four or five hours away from Tessa, if that.

Mr Mulder's phone buzzed again. He woke with a jolt and pulled it from a pocket.

It was the beginning of the end.

"Sh—! Scully, where's your phone?"

"Mulder?"

"Your phone. There's a call being made on your phone right now."

Her hand disappeared from the steering wheel. She gasped. "I don't have it."

Liam shrank as the man blazed with intense emotion—fury or panic, perhaps both.

"Mulder! Behind us!"

Liam twisted to see out the window. A little black dot was just emerging on the horizon. The road started to sweep around a curve.

One became two, became three, became four, became ... Liam's chest tightened. There had to be at least eight, all in a chain.

Rescue had arrived. It had to be the rescue team, coming to free him and his parents. Why then was a cold sweat breaking out on his temple?

As the vehicles got closer and closer, he was torn between a desire to cheer their pursuers on and an inexplicable need to yell at Dr Scully to go faster.

He didn't need to tell Dr Scully anything. He was thrust against the seat as the stolen SUV hurtled forward. It was a small relief to see Jerry was still safe and hadn't been dislodged by the sudden burst of speed.

Whatever feelings _he_ had, his parents were less conflicted. His mother had gripped the handhold above the window but she was keeping her composure.

"Dr Scully, please slow down. It's no use. They know where you're going. I'm sorry ... I borrowed your cellphone."

Dr Scully ignored her. "How far, Mulder?"

"They're not gaining as much. Can you get this thing to go any faster?"

"Maybe ... but then we're going to have another problem."

"Scully?"

"They don't call these things gas-guzzlers for nothing," she said. "No wonder no one wants to buy SUVs anymore."

Liam's dad tried reason. "Dr Scully, Mr Mulder, wouldn't it be safer to give up? Whatever your reasons for kidnapping us, I don't believe you intended any harm. We'll tell them exactly how kindly you treated us—"

Dr Scully wasn't in the mood for reason. "Any ideas, Mulder?"

"Just keep driving, Scully. Keep driving!" Mr Mulder had to roar over the scream of wind when he wound down his window. Liam's mom flinched and pulled Liam to her when Mr Mulder whipped his gun from its holster.

"Please don't," she said in a whisper.

Mr Mulder's wild expression softened.

"Mrs van de Kamp." He was gentle. "If you love your son and your husband, you'll turn that cellphone off."

"But the police," she said. "You can't expect to outrun them."

"Look at them, Marie." Mr Mulder's use of her first name was unsettling. "They're not the police. Not the sort you know."

"They could be ..." The hand gripping Liam went rigid.

"Mom?"

She squeezed her eyes and shook her head. She snatched up the phone and handed it to Mr Mulder. He threw it out the window.

The black vehicles were still only the size of peas.

"Doing good, Scully."

_But for how long?_

There were no side roads they could shoot off. Their only chance would be to reach Jeffrey City and hope they weren't intercepted before then ... but with the gas on empty—or nearly—that might be impossible.

As much as his brain said it was futile to run, his body didn't want to listen.

_Don't stop! Don't stop!_

After another minute the vehicles still looked no closer. Liam had exhausted his reserves of anxiety. He forced himself to exhale. Everything was going swimmingly from their end. The gas was holding out. Dr Scully had proved she was a match for the other drivers. They just might make it, he told himself over and over, willing himself to believe it.

Mr Mulder uttered his second expletive for the day, but it lacked conviction and had the ring of defeat to it.

When Liam twisted again to look out the back window he knew why. "A helicopter! Mom, there's a helicopter!"

"Stay down, kid," Mr Mulder said. "Both of you get down. You're not safe sticking up like that."

"Mulder!" Dr Scully was locked on the road in front of her. "We've got more trouble—there's a marked patrol car heading right at us."

"I think we've got a bigger problem coming from behind, Scully."

"Holy sh—"

Even that got Mr Mulder's attention. Liam's father wasn't usually one for swearing. When Liam looked forward, he understood his father's panic.

The patrol car charged head-on at them. Just behind it was another car in the other lane. There was nowhere for Dr Scully to go but the grassy shoulder of the road—except Dr Scully appeared to have no intentions of taking that option.

"Keep going, Scully," Mulder said. "Straight ahead." The patrol car, its lights flashing, bore at them. It would all be over before ... Mrs van de Kamp grabbed Liam in a hug.

He heard a shot ring out and felt the vehicle swerve, but the expected impact never came.

"What the ...?" At his father's exclamation, Liam struggled to free himself from his mother. Both cars were nowhere to be seen. But in the distance a third, unmarked, car headed to them. Thankfully, it stayed in the other lane.

"What happened?" his mother said.

They were already half a mile away. Behind them thick smoke poured off wreckage on the road.

"Harry, what happened?"

"The second car, the one behind it ..." Mr van de Kamp shook his head. "Someone in the second car shot out the wheel on the first car."

"Picnic's not over, folks," Mr Mulder said. The rhythmic thumping of the black helicopter was a war cry. When he looked up, Liam caught a glimpse of the machine's underbelly as it gained on them, angry and wasp-like.

"I'm not seeing this." Mr van de Kamp was still staring out the front windshield.

The third car was almost on them. A man was braced against the back window—a figure aiming some kind of rifle toward them. Only it wasn't aimed at _them;_ the marksman had his sights set higher.

"If this thing's got anymore juice in her, Scully, now would be a good time to find out."

Where Dr Scully found that extra bit of speed, Liam never knew. The SUV shot forward just as the crack of a gunshot was swallowed in a dreadful explosion. Fiery chunks of metal rained down on the road like a meteorite shower, pelting their roof with metallic debris.

"That's impossible. That's fu ..." Liam's dad took a gulp of air. "What the hell's happening?"

"You're being rescued," Mr Mulder said. Liam's dad opened his mouth to speak, but Dr Scully cut in.

"What's happening behind us?"

Mr Mulder surveyed the scene.

"The last car's turned around; it made it out of there. The helicopter wreckage's blocking the—no ... one, two ... we've still got three on our tail—hello."

"Mulder?"

"Someone else is out there, Scully. Someone covering our asses."

She lifted her head to glance in the rear view mirror. "Where?"

Mr Mulder whistled in admiration. "Whoever they are, they're a crack shot. They've taken out the tires on the three vehicles that made it through the helicopter mess."

Mr Mulder's phone buzzed again.

"There should be a road on your left up ahead, Scully. There's an abandoned barn about three miles along. We need to get under some shelter before these guys start reassembling themselves."

Liam stared at Mr Mulder's cellphone. "How do you know where to go, Mr Mulder?"

"Trade secret, kid," he said, smiling for the first time since the pursuit started.

They found the barn exactly where he said. Set in a dip in the land about half a mile further off the road, only its rooftop was visible when they turned into the gravel track leading up to it. It had no door, just a wide gaping hole.

Dr Scully didn't stop to check the building before driving inside. When the SUV rolled to a stop, she made no effort to get out. She slumped over the wheel, her shoulders rising and falling.

Only the ticking of the engine punctured the stunned quiet. Liam's mother still held him close. Liam winced when someone spoke. His dad.

Mr van de Kamp's voice was low, dangerous, controlled. His rage was unmistakable.

"How dare you?" They knew who he was speaking to. "How dare you put my family through some kind of Satan's hell ride?"

Before anyone had a chance to react, he was out of the car, slamming the door. He kicked a loose paling on the wall and picked up a rake, swinging it at a window.

The glass seemed to shatter in slow motion; he flung the rake aside. It struck a sagging shelf, which toppled, taking down cans of paint with it. Mr van de Kamp leaned over, hands on knees, gasping.

Mr Mulder got out of the SUV while Dr Scully pushed herself up. He helped her out of the vehicle but when he started to move to Liam's dad, she put a hand on his arm. Liam felt his mother's arms drop away and she joined Mr Mulder and Dr Scully, her expression unreadable.

Dr Scully nodded at Mr van de Kamp, her face softening. "I'm afraid to approach him."

"Harry?" Mrs van de Kamp stepped towards her husband. When he didn't stand up, she reached out, enfolding him in her arms.

For the first time since he'd puzzled over the strange term "adoption," Liam felt a separation from his mother and father.

They were in their own private world—one he was shut out of for a moment.

That first time when his parents had explained he was adopted—not their blood son—for one afternoon his head had spun in a free fall and he grappled with the sensation of being cut loose.

But by evening when his mother found him playing on the branch of a favorite tree, she'd taken his hands in hers and asked him if they were real.

"Are these hands warm, Liam?" _s_ he'd said. "These hands cut your fruit for you, they wash behind your ears when you forget, they open your curtains in the morning, they draw the wheels on your box cars."

They were the hands that turned the pages of his favorite books _._ That made paper hats for him. That rubbed his back at night when he was having trouble sleeping but was trying to pretend everything was alright ...

She made everything alright with her hands.

And while his mind might wander and speculate where his birth mother was or who his biological father had been, they were like book characters—people whose stories he could make up and change at whim. They weren't real. Not like his mother or his father who had always been there for him.

Because those people were not real to him and because his parents had always been there for him, he had never needed the people who walked away from him. Not to feel complete.

Today, though, his parents had stepped through their own invisible barrier, into the pages of their own story—and he wasn't in it.

"Your father will be okay, Liam," Mr Mulder said.

"He's just scared for me, I know." Even his own voice sounded disconnected.

Dr Scully looked concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said, still watching his mother whisper to his dad.

Dr Scully touched him on the shoulder. "Why don't you go and tell him that? I think it would be good for him to hear it."

_She's right. So why can't I make myself go over there?_

It wasn't about intruding on a moment he didn't feel a part of, nor about not belonging. Neither was true, nor would ever be true. But somehow in the space of a heartbeat his own personal universe had shifted. Was it because, for once, they didn't need him—not really—and, just as equally, he didn't need them?

Mr Mulder and Dr Scully were watching his parents, their looks curious.

He turned away, determined to divert Mr Mulder and Dr Scully to other matters at hand.

"Shouldn't we be deciding what to do?" he said. The rotting walls and roof overhead looked like they'd come down with a sneeze. He felt exposed.

Mr Mulder and Dr Scully shared a look. He was unnerving them. He was supposed to be scared, hiding behind their backs. He couldn't tell them he didn't feel it. That seeing his father collapse had hardened him.

They humored him.

"We need to plan our next move, yes," Dr Scully said. "Perhaps you could help me by checking those rooms over there? What we really need is some more fuel."

Liam doubted they would find anything suitable for the SUV. Farms were always being raided for diesel. He doubted this place had had anything worth stealing since before he was born.

A few sorry-looking garden tools and a pitchfork leaned against a wall, and the remains of a rusted-out tractor drooped in a corner. The workrooms were as stripped bare as Liam expected.

When he came back, Mr Mulder came through the large opening where the door once hung.

"No sign of them yet, Scully," he said.

Dr Scully scanned the rafters. "I think we're going to have to walk, Mulder. This place has been ransacked. We've still got time to put a little distance between us—"

Mr van de Kamp had recovered enough to start paying attention.

"It would be wise for you to leave now," he said. "But we are not coming."

With a sinking heart, Liam realized his dad wasn't about to give up the idea rescue was on the way.

"Mr van de Kamp—"

"You can wave that gun as much as you like, madam. We've tolerated your civil dictatorship long enough. There are people out there looking for us. They know roughly where we are and, as wide as this land may seem, there's not many places you're going to find to hide. You might get lucky ... if you leave now."

Dr Scully looked disgusted.

"Tell me what it was you saw back on the road, Mr van de Kamp. No unmarked helicopters? No black fleet sedans, no suicidal cops playing chicken on a routine vehicle stop?"

He regarded her with crossed arms and a cold stare.

"I saw an unmarked vehicle take out a police patrol car. I watched—unbelievably—a man with a rifle take out a rescue helicopter. Whatever game you're mixed up in, I want nothing to do with it. Maybe you're harmless but your accomplices certainly aren't."

Mr Mulder's cellphone chose that inopportune moment to buzz again. He flicked it open, his face giving away nothing as he read.

"Help's on its way," he said, running back to the SUV. "Scully, give me the key. I've got to lead them away from this place."

Dr Scully made no effort to hand the key over. "What do you mean 'help's on its way?' Where are you going?"

"A red Ford will be here in about ten minutes, but it looks like our indestructible friends are getting themselves together much more quickly these days. Someone needs to act as a decoy—no one's had more luck at getting away from them than me."

Dr Scully bit her lip. The key remained in her hand. "I don't want you to do this."

He closed the distance between them with a giant step and cupped his hand around her neck where the Band Aid hid the evidence of her self-mutilation.

"And I didn't want you to do this"—he shuddered—"but I know you had no choice."

He prised her fingers from the key and placed in them another object. "It's funny, you know ... all those years we thought we were alone? We're not, Scully. And this time I'm happy about that."

And then he was in the car and backing out.

Dr Scully straightened. Any shock from Mr Mulder's departure was gone from her face.

"I can't let you go, Mr van de Kamp." She was in no mood to argue. She didn't need the gun but she pulled it out anyway.

She directed them to a corner and planted herself opposite them where she also had a view of the track. They huddled together, Liam at least thankful for their sheltered position. Anyone approaching would see Dr Scully first. His parents both sighed when he told them he was fine. His dad smiled ruefully when Liam turned the question back on them.

"I took that one a bit hard, Liam. I'm sorry if I scared you, but don't you worry. I _am_ going to get us out of this."

Liam swallowed his protest. His father's mind was set. Liam didn't want to risk re-igniting his anger by confessing he thought Mr Mulder and Dr Scully might be telling the truth.

Tires crunched on gravel as a vehicle rolled up.

Liam put his eye to a gap in the weatherboards. His heart sped up. It was a large red farm vehicle—a Ford—just as Mr Mulder had said.

Dr Scully trained her gun on the man who got out of it. She called out before he got nearer. "Back of the neck."

"I'm turning ... I'm gonna show you my neck now." The man pulled down the collar of his shirt.

Dr Scully moved a little closer, then closer still, until she nodded and told the man to face her.

"If I was one, at this distance you wouldn't have had a chance," the man said.

Dr Scully's mouth quirked.

"You'd think by now we'd learn not to be so trusting." She shook his hand.

"And yet, I'm glad we still can be," he replied. "Dana Scully, I presume? Garrett de Rosier. I've heard a lot about you, Dr Scully. It's an honor, although I wish the circumstances could have been happier. That being said, we don't have time for chit chat."

He poked his head around the door and addressed the van de Kamps. "Sorry not to introduce myself, folks, but we'd best be going."

Liam scampered forward, but his father didn't move. Liam had reached the back door of the Ford—which Dr Scully was pointing him to—when he saw his father still at the barn.

Mr van de Kamp eyed the newcomer with suspicion.

"Do you know this woman?" His glare at Dr Scully was defiant. Liam had a bad feeling.

"Not personally." The man threw Dr Scully a confused look. "But by reputation, Dr Scully commands my absolute respect."

"Well, _Dr_ Scully knows exactly what I think of her game, so she shouldn't be surprised that I've decided to stop playing."

Mr van de Kamp walked past Liam and his mother. He gave them a tight smile. "I have to end this, sweetheart," he said under his breath.

He put his hands up but kept moving.

"Dad!"

The distance between them grew with every footstep. "I've got to get us help, son."

Four dots jogged over the crest of a hill in the distance.

"Dr Scully!"

The doctor swore. "Quick! Into the car!"

Mr de Rosier was already in the driver's seat. Liam's mother hesitated, looking after her husband, until Liam yelled and tugged at her.

Turning to check on his father, he screamed. "Dr Scully!"

She was still standing at the door of the vehicle, watching Liam's dad retreat. At the pace the figures were gaining on him, his dad would be surrounded in a minute.

_Why doesn't he stop?_

"God, Liam," Dr Scully said. Her face was white as she brought the gun up. "Please don't watch this."

She fired.

Liam's scream lasted long after the crack of the bullet rent the air.


	7. Chapter 7

August 10, 2011  
Fremont County  
Wyoming

The gunshot was instantaneous; Liam's scream went on forever. Harry van de Kamp spasmed and dropped to the ground.

Before Liam could turn his frightened face on Dr Scully, she holstered her gun and bundled him into the vehicle, slamming the door.

"Reverse. Now!" She slapped the Ford as if the force of her command was enough to power the vehicle. Then she was gone, tearing over the rocky field.

The man who had driven so suddenly to their rescue minutes ago didn't need to be told twice. The Ford's engine roared into life and lurched off-track in a hail of dirt.

They pulled up along Dr Scully, already bent over the prone body.

"Quick, scoot over here." The man nodded Liam to the front seat as he jerked the handbrake. "Stay in the car. We're going to need room."

Liam was too confused to disobey. After clambering over the seats, he pressed his face against the window to see what was happening.

Dr Scully was at his dad's side. Liam couldn't make out what she was doing, but her hands were flying.

"Harry?" Liam's mother dropped to her knees. She pushed Dr Scully when the doctor leant forward. "Get away from him."

Her struggles didn't subside until the man restrained her.

Dr Scully said something which made the man glance up. The color in his face drained away.

"There's no time—we have to go now!" he said.

Liam stared across the field; he squinted and rubbed his eyes.

"Mom—" He tried hard to keep the horror from his voice.

The four runners hadn't slowed. Two in front, two behind, they were moving together as if they were one lone, four-headed wolf from some terrible legend.

And they were naked.

Except for lace-up boots and scraps of uniform, which flapped about their shoulders and shins, all four were unclothed.

They were too far away for Liam to make out facial features but their stride and formation was enough to chill him. Their loping gait was leisurely but their legs were devouring the distance with terrifying speed. With each step they doubled in height, looming larger and larger.

Soldiers.

Fear was like a giant hand squeezing his heart; he screamed, banging on the window.

Dr Scully jumped to her feet.

She won't let anything bad happen ... wait! What am I thinking? She just shot Dad!

He couldn't trust her—that's what he should be thinking. She was dangerous. A lunatic. A lunatic trying to save them.

It doesn't make any sense.

The man reached under Mr van de Kamp's arms and hoisted him while Dr Scully, with red-smeared hands, lifted his legs. It was the first time Liam had noticed blood. He strained to see where it was coming from. It should have scared him but instinct told him there was a greater danger at hand.

Dr Scully and the man staggered several steps to the Ford, ignoring Liam's mother's protests.

"Why are you moving him? It's not safe—" She stood at the vehicle door, her hands extended—to do what? Help them? Stop them?

"No, it's not safe," Dr Scully said as they maneuvered Liam's dad so he was stretched out, taking up all the seat. His face was slack.

"But—"

Dr Scully dismissed her with a wave. "Sit in the front with Liam."

Liam's mom made no effort to climb in the car.

The doctor's eyes never left Mr van de Kamp's face as she arranged his legs on the seat. The man had raced to the other side and was easing Liam's dad further into the vehicle.

He looked over his shoulder. "Dr Scully ..."

Liam tasted bile in his mouth when he forced himself to look at the running men.

The leaders were covered from head to foot in mottled skin, blackened and purple and deathly. One had distinct, rusty welts centered over his chest and on his temple; his partner kept up the formation but there was something peculiar about his lopsided run.

"Get in! Now!" Dr Scully yelled.

The runners were winning this race.

There was nothing human about their fluid pack stride but there was nothing animal about it, either—nothing predatory. Every movement was precise and economical: left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. But then there was that one soldier: something off, something strange about the way his shoulders rolled back and forth—an exaggerated pitching or listing on one side.

Liam gagged. "His arm's torn off."

Jagged bone—what else could it be?—protruded from the stump.

"Mom ... Mom! His arm's gone ... Mom! Get in."

The soldiers were expressionless as they honed in on the vehicle but their eyes bore down on its occupants with dreadful purpose.

In a flash, Liam and Dr Scully were out of the Ford. She pushed while he grabbed his mother about her waist, tugging and yelling at her.

"Mom, please!"

"I'm not leaving you here!" Dr Scully said.

His mother's trance broke. She shook her head.

She didn't need Dr Scully to yell again. She and Liam tumbled together on to the front seat as Dr Scully fired her gun twice and dived for the vehicle herself.

It was already rolling.

Not fast enough.

Liam's mother cried out as One Arm shot his only grasping, ruined hand straight through the closing gap of their door.

Liam stretched across his mother and snatched at the handle, his arms jarred by resistance.

The door wouldn't shut.

Blackened fingers waggled, mashed between the car and the door frame.

He had to bite down hard on his cheeks to control his revulsion.

The fingers were still connected to a hand, and the hand was still connected to a body, and the body was still running, keeping pace with the Ford, which was accelerating across the bumpy terrain.

Only his mother's grip kept him from bouncing off her knees. They were both holding on for life. Quick thumps overhead made them look up.

"What's that?" Liam's mom asked.

"Another one on the roof." Dr Scully scrambled out of her jacket. "I think I slowed the other two down. Can you shake them off?"

"Do I have a choice?" Their driver gripped the stick. "Hold on!"

Liam went flying against the dashboard as the man slammed on the brakes. He grunted but managed to keep his hold on the door. The abrupt stop didn't dislodge One Arm; the fingers above Liam writhed like large, fat maggots.

How are you holding on?

His mother's face was a scant inch away from the fingers.

Another bang on the roof made them look up. A shadow fell across the driver's window. A grinning head appeared, upside down. Its fist pounded on the window, then again, and again. A crack ran up the glass.

One Arm was still moving with the Ford, but with only one hand to grip the door frame, how was he holding on? Maybe the same way Liam was. Nothing would make him let go of the handle.

Their driver held his nerve, planted his foot again and swung them in a wide arc.

They drove right at a stone pillar next to an open gate. At the last second, they turned sharply, grazing the pillar. The vehicle shuddered when the soldier half on the roof smashed into the post—and was gone (along with the side-view mirror)—with a crunch.

"Hold that door!" the man yelled.

Liam gritted his teeth. His knuckles were white; he was strangling the handle with both hands. His mother was clutching him fast; she had pulled the seatbelt around him to secure them both. Only her clasp kept him steady while the vehicle bounced into another field.

Liam didn't want to look straight up—he didn't want to risk seeing either One Arm or its fingers—but his head was flung back when the vehicle struck a large rock.

His eyes locked on the soldier's.

Liam was grateful he was frozen with fear. His paralysis saved him. The vehicle rode over another rock, and the soldier's head disappeared.

Liam watched the swollen fingers slide down the door frame. He swallowed his relief as the fingers, one by one, lost purchase and slipped—until only an index finger wrapped itself against the lip of the frame.

Liam gave a final heave. The door shut with a satisfying click. The vehicle seemed lighter.

He was too numb to feel relief.

"Three out indefinitely," Dr Scully said from the back. "One's reassembled but he won't catch us."

Liam's mother let out a sigh before she and the man burst into questions.

"Who were they? What were they? What do they want?"

"Where to, Dr Scully? Avoid the township?"

Liam knew his own voice would be lost in the fray. He didn't even try to say anything. He had pretended to be brave—holding on to the door and all—but One Arm had frightened him. What if Dr Scully was wrong? Liam didn't want to look out the window.

What if it's still holding on?

There had been nowhere to run, nowhere to escape, so he had frozen. He never wanted to freeze like that again.

He forced himself to peek over the edge.

They had hit a road. He was surprised to see the abandoned barn just disappearing from view. Shouldn't they be miles away already? Their escape had taken a lifetime, hadn't it? Like the slow-motion fall of his father when Dr Scully shot him; that was a moment lasting forever ...

"Dad!"

A weak voice called out. "Still alive."

The hand clenching Liam's heart relaxed. Until now he hadn't realized how much pain he felt in his chest.

"Stay still, Mr van de Kamp. The bullet's gone straight through muscle. There's no arterial wound, but you are bleeding badly."

He groaned. "You're either a really good shot—or a really bad one."

"Either way, you're one lucky SOB, sir," their driver said. "She took out two of those things with her handgun—direct hits to their foreheads, each of them. I'd say she only misses when she aims to miss."

Liam's dad snorted. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Dr Scully's mouth twisted. She told Mr van de Kamp not to waste his energy and asked the man if he had a first aid kit.

"In the glove compartment."

Still on his mother's knees—there was no room for him anywhere else—Liam tried to reached forward but found himself stuck.

As much as he wanted them to, his hands wouldn't release the handle.

Gently, his mother pried his fingers free. "You can let go, Liam."

She enveloped his hands in her own.

Dr Scully leaned over. "Have you got ..." The hint of exasperation faded when her glance fell on them.

Liam reddened and slid his hands out from his mother's. He opened the compartment and rooted through its contents.

"Ugh." His mother was staring down the side of the seat.

Liam handed the first aid kit to Dr Scully then leaned over his mother's side to see her discovery.

"Eww ... cool."

Here was a chance to reclaim some of his pride. For all the terror, all that hammering of his heart on his ribcage, he refused to act scared. He commanded himself to look at the thing, to scrutinize it with the same detachment he might when studying an animal carcass.

"What is it?" Dr Scully asked.

Liam's mother wrinkled her nose. "A finger."

The doctor hissed. "Get it out—now!"

"With pleasure. Liam, sweetie, could you just move ..." She twisted him in her lap to give herself room to reach down beside the seat.

"You don't have to do it, Mom. I'll—"

"No, wait, Liam," said Dr Scully. "Perhaps it's best if no one touches it. Garrett, do you have something we could use to wrap it?"

Liam pushed aside a flashlight, pamphlets and an assortment of other items until he pulled a large rag from the glove compartment.

"Like this, Dr Scully?" He didn't wait for her reply, leaning over again to fish out the finger.

"No. Don't—"

"Don't wor—" Liam wasn't squeamish and severed limbs didn't (usually) frighten him, but his hand paused mid-stoop. He sat up, very aware his heart was beating a rapid tattoo. "It's moving."

"Excuse me?" his mother said.

He leaned over again and let out a sigh. The finger, from torn flesh at one end to dirt encrusted nail at the other, lay on a ledge just under the door frame. A trick of the eye.

"Nope." Embarrassed, he turned a weak grin on his mother.

When she rolled her eyes, he noticed her lashes were shining.

"Liam ..." She took the rag from him.

She heeded Dr Scully's advice to take it carefully.

"Don't let it touch your skin, Marie."

When the thing was secured in the rag, Mrs van de Kamp passed it to the doctor, who took it with equal care and sealed it in the emptied first aid container.

"You're keeping it?" Liam asked.

"So we can study it." She didn't elaborate but put the container on the floor.

Using scissors she'd found in the kit, she proceeded to cut away one leg from Mr van de Kamp's jeans. It couldn't have been the easiest thing in the world to do. There was nowhere for her to sit and she was crouched between the front and back seats to brace herself. She looked uncomfortable but her hands were sure as she sliced through thick fabric.

"We've got to find some place safe to stop," she said. "As soon as possible."

The man looked over his shoulder. "I was told you'd know where you were going ...?"

"That was before."

Liam wondered if there was more she wanted to add.

"What about Agent Mulder?"

She hesitated before answering. "I don't know. Not yet."

Their driver's fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

"If you can stand the jostling, I'll take us off-road a bit. That ought to buy us some time. There's a place I know about twenty miles from here that should give us some shelter and give you time to patch that wound."

Dr Scully didn't waste time thinking about the suggestion. "Thank you."

The man gave Liam a sideways glance. "We didn't get time to properly introduce ourselves. My name is Garrett de Rosier. Please, call me Garrett. I've known of Dr Scully for some time, but no one's yet introduced me to ..."

Liam's mother answered for the family.

"Marie van de Kamp. My husband, Harry, and our son, Liam."

"That was a brave thing you did, Liam—holding on to that door," Mr de Rosier said.

Now that there were no superhuman soldiers chasing them, Liam had time to look at their rescuer. The way his shoulders hunched and filled the cab, his knees stuck out from under the steering wheel, and his head bent against the roof gave the impression he was driving his grandmother's car, not a large farm vehicle.

He wasn't thickset but standing he'd have to be taller than Mr Mulder and his shoulders were broad. The soldier that tried to come through his window would have encountered a second solid obstacle had he got any further.

His mother brushed over Mr de Rosier's compliment.

"Were those men—" Mrs van de Kamp stumbled over her next word as if it were a new one she was just testing out. "Supersoldiers?"

"Supersoldiers?" The word slipped off Mr de Rosier's tongue as easily as ice cream might. "I'd say so."

"You don't know?"

"Not many people meet a supersoldier and get the opportunity to talk about it later."

"What did they want with us?"

Mr de Rosier took his eyes off the road to look at her. He flicked a quick glance in the rearview mirror.

"You're traveling in such auspicious company and you don't know what's going on?"

Mrs van de Kamp saw an opening and took it.

"Not for lack of asking!" she said. "It's very difficult to say no to a woman pointing a gun at your son's head."

Mr de Rosier whistled; Dr Scully put up no defense.

Encouraged, Mrs van de Kamp continued.

"They turned up at our farm late yesterday morning. They said they were FBI agents making routine checks. All of a sudden, Mr Mulder receives a text, and that's when he and Dr Scully decide to kidnap us. All of us. We were driven for several hours. Mr Mulder told us some fantastic tale about aliens and invasions and supersoldiers, then he broke into a house in who-knows-where, and we slept there until he made us get into a stolen vehicle this morning. I managed to call for help on Dr Scully's phone, and we were about to be rescued when things went pear-shaped ..."

Her speech, begun high on the mountain of indignance, became lost in uncertainty. It wasn't a conciliatory ending—Liam could tell his mom hadn't quite made up her mind about what was happening to her family—but here they were, still in the car, with a stranger who turned up to save them just in time and the doctor who had kidnapped them at gunpoint, then shot one of them.

And no one was asking to get out. Neither his mother nor his father had demanded an emergency call be made again—not even to assist with Mr van de Kamp's injury.

Somehow they were safer in the Ford, safer with Dr Scully and Mr de Rosier than they would be anywhere else.

Mr de Rosier nodded. "That explains some things."

"Not to me, it doesn't."

"I believe in supersoldiers, Marie, even though until today I had never seen one in action. But I have seen—experienced—other things that make it easy for me to believe. If you've never considered them before, supersoldiers must sound beyond incredible. I bet you thought agents Mulder and Scully were straight out of a mental institution."

The sheepish expression on Mrs van de Kamp's face made him smile.

"I wondered how Mulder and Dr Scully had become embroiled in an abduction attempt. It's unfortunate you misread the situation, but you can't be blamed for your lack of trust. I'm sure Agent Mulder approved."

If the reference was an invitation for Dr Scully to join in, she didn't take it.

"So, it's true? They were trying to save us?" Liam already believed it. He just wanted someone neutral to confirm it. Not that this Mr de Rosier could be considered neutral.

"No one's told me what they were doing or why they were doing it, but I assume saving your lives must have been part of that plan."

Liam's mother was not as willing to trust this man as Liam. Not without testing every angle of his story.

"How do we know you're not just a part of it? We're in the middle of nowhere, and you suddenly turn up in time to rescue us?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't bother ever buying a lottery ticket again, Mrs van de Kamp. You hit a once-in-a-million life-times jackpot today. One day I hope you come to understand that."

Liam's mom gave a frustrated shake of her head. "I'll never understand it unless someone just tells us straight. What is happening?"

"Three separate—let's call them organizations—took a great deal of interest in your call, Marie."

The vehicle turned hard left onto a narrow track.

"For some reason the whereabouts of you and your family has become a matter of considerable intrigue, most likely because of the company you've been keeping. Two organizations were acting in concert when they tried to run you off the road this morning.

"One looked suspiciously like a covert military outfit. The second group were the very people you probably expected to help you: two off-duty police officers from Lander.

"Note that: the hail for response to your call was not made over the emergency radio dispatch system. Neither the Fremont County Sheriff's Department nor the Lander Police Department was made aware of an emergency just south of Jeffrey City. There's a deputy in Jeffrey City. He should have been the first person on the scene, considering Jeffrey City is the closest town to us right now. But he's not here.

"And where are the reporters? The photographers? The folks at the Lander Journal deserve to break a decent yarn, and frankly, there's no bigger yarn in the country today than the one you're mixed up in. With their secret ways of knowing things, this is something you'd expect journalists to be all over ... but they're not here. None of them. In other words—they don't know you're out here."

Mr de Rosier sure does like to talk.

"Instead of that message being received by every unit in Fremont County, only two off-duty police officers were privy to it. You might be interested to know the officers in that patrol vehicle are newcomers to the area. And for newcomers, they aren't real friendly-like, keep to themselves, if you catch my drift."

Mr de Rosier was alluding to something important. Liam wasn't quite sure he understood exactly what, but the picture he built in his head of the two officers was not flattering. Was Mr de Rosier saying the two officers were untrustworthy?

"You could say you've had a rather unlucky day or two on account of the kidnapping, gun-pointing and fiery explosions and such, but I beg you to spare a thought for the family of the dispatch operator who took your call because it's unlikely they will ever see their loved one alive again.

"You, on the other hand, got really lucky. I'll tell you why. Because not only are you traveling with one of our country's foremost experts on paranormal and extraterrestrial activity, but you're lucky because three groups took an interest in that call you placed about an hour or so ago, Marie. The third group—the one I belong to—was the first to understand the significance of that call and took immediate steps to minimize the effects of it.

"As luck would have it, we were in exactly the right place at exactly the right time."

"You!" Liam's mother was horrified. "You shot down that helicopter! You blew out the tires on the patrol car."

"Not me personally. I can't take credit for either shot. But I know the guys who did the shooting."

"But the helicopter pilot ..." She sounded sick.

He gave her a sympathetic smile. "You can't kill a supersoldier, Marie."

"We knew they'd be coming at you from both directions. There wasn't any time to arrange more effective fire power. We did the best we could with what we had. We were able to estimate where you'd be hijacked. We had several vehicles on the road looking for patrol cars and we set up a couple of sharpshooters along the hills, just in case."

Mrs van de Kamp slumped, all the fight gone out of her. For seconds she seemed lost. At last, raising her head, tears threatening to fall, she capitulated.

"I give in. I don't know what to believe." Liam felt her arms tighten around him. "She shot my husband. She didn't give him any warning. She held a gun up to my son's head and forced us to come with her. I don't know what to do."

It was an uncomfortable confession to hear. It was as though, going as far as she could, his mother had walked herself into a dark corner and could go no further. Liam had never imagined his mother this way.

No one had any words to reassure her, but Dr Scully had questions of her own.

"How did you know?" Her raised voice—its sharpness—caught Liam's attention. "How did you know Mulder and I were in that SUV?"

She wanted answers. Her face became more animated with every question. "How did you know where we'd be? Who contacted you? Who knew how to cont—"

She was cut off by the sudden buzz of the cellphone in her pocket. She pulled it out, and it rattled in her bloodied hand.

An anxious air had developed in the vehicle. They were all waiting to see what she would do. Her hesitation was brief. She flicked the cover and stared at the tiny screen, her face once again inscrutable.


	8. Chapter 8

August 10, 2011  
Fremont County  
Wyoming

"Well?" Mr de Rosier craned his neck to see Dr Scully. "What are our instructions?"

Dr Scully closed the cellphone and slipped it into her pocket. Maybe it was a private message, but Liam felt they were entitled to know what was in it.

The doctor pursed her lips. Was she going to fall into her usual habit of silence?

"They've lost track of us. They've been ordered to clear the debris and return to base—wherever that is. We're to proceed as we are. We'll receive another message in half an hour with new instructions. Damn it!"

Her fist clenched. "Who's sending these messages?"

"You don't know?"

Liam had the impression Mr de Rosier was surprised or disappointed—or both.

When Mr Mulder and Dr Scully had discussed their destination that morning, Liam had been sure Mr Mulder wasn't telling the doctor everything. It was unsettling that even _she_ was in the dark on some matters.

Why did adults have to complicate things? If Dr Scully and Mr Mulder had been honest—with the van de Kamps and with each other—right from the start, maybe they wouldn't be where they were now.

"He didn't tell me."

"Pardon?"

"Mulder. He didn't tell me. It's his phone—he gave it to me just before he took off. He threw mine away when they tried to run us off the road."

"He must have told you something?"

Liam, peering around, saw the doctor make a face.

"He got the first message warning us of trouble three days ago." Her voice was far away. "It contained explicit instructions that Mulder insisted we follow and which took us on a bizarre route across the country, eventually leading us to the van de Kamps ..."

Mr de Rosier was taking them west, away from the main road. They were following a rugged track around low hills. There weren't many trees in the area, just scrubby shrubs, but the hills closing in on them gave Liam a sense of security. The sun was not yet overhead; even though so much had happened already, it was still early morning.

Liam caught his father's eyes and was rewarded with a crimped smile. Dr Scully had fashioned a cushion for Mr van de Kamp's head out of her jacket. She had also pulled a blanket on the seat over him. The blanket covered his legs, hiding any signs he'd been shot. The pinched look about his face was the only evidence of his injury. That, and the blood stains on the doctor's hands and front.

"I asked him who the messages were from," Dr Scully said. "He told me he'd tell me when he understood himself. I think he has some suspicions. The only other thing I know is that he trusts them."

There was a catch in her voice.

"But you don't?" The frightened woman was gone. Liam's mom was back to business.

There had been no opportunity to talk to her about Dr Scully and Jerry, but was she, like Liam, starting to think the van de Kamp family had done Dr Scully an injustice?

Mr Mulder had sped off, leaving Liam no time to rescue the tadpole. After the frightening escape they'd just had, he couldn't work out how he was feeling. Confused, mainly. Numb.

Not numb enough to prevent a heart pang. The tadpole was gone.

The loss hurt. Less than a day and Liam had failed the little creature.

"It's not as easy as that," the doctor said. "The messages always come from a different source—never the same number—yet Mulder never questions them. Whoever is sending them always knows where we are. It's uncanny. I—I had a similar experience once, back when Lee—"

She took a deep breath.

"Mulder had gone into hiding. I was under surveillance. That was the first year I ever heard of supersoldiers. They had my apartment bugged. They knew things. When I realized just how deeply they'd burrowed into my life, I felt ... violated."

The door to Dr Scully's world was ajar. Liam listened, hanging on to every word.

"They wanted me to flush Mulder out. They thought I knew where he was—how to get him to return. They wanted me to be very sure of the power they had over me—what they could make me do.

"The outcome was unpleasant."

She said no more.

_Don't stop there._ _What happened?_

A breach in the walls of Castle Scully raised so many questions. Why had Mulder been missing? Where did he go? What did the soldiers make Dr Scully do? When did all this happen?

Mr de Rosier was more concerned with the present. "If Mulder knew this had already happened to you, do you think he'd let it happen again?"

He wasn't interested in Scully's early memories of supersoldiers. Then again, maybe he already knew? He may never have met her before today but he did say he had known _of_ Dr Scully and Mr Mulder. How did he know about them?

Dr Scully gave a small sigh. "I trust Mulder's judgment. I just wish I knew more about how and why this is all happening."

Mr de Rosier laughed. "Isn't that what we all end up saying?"

The Ford jerked up an incline; Mr de Rosier had taken them well away from any sort of inhabited area; the hills further west gave way to hostile territory—inhospitable mountain ranges with steep gullies and impassable faces.

"Text messages. That's how we got involved. Of course, really, we all got involved when the abductions started—but that's another story. We all knew each other from the camp."

"I'm sorry," Mrs van de Kamp said, not sounding sorry at all. "Maybe there is something in what Dr Scully's been trying to tell us—maybe—but how can we make up our minds what to believe if you keep sheltering us from important details? You keep making these references to things that we can't possibly know anything about."

It was a valid point and Mr de Rosier knew it. Still, he deferred to the doctor.

"Dr Scully, what do we do? Do you still want to stop? That place I was telling you about is just up ahead."

Dr Scully leveraged herself against his seat to pull herself up. What she saw seemed to satisfy her.

"Yes, stop, please. For Mr van de Kamp's sake. However safe these messages are, I don't want us _to need_ to rely on them."

He nodded. "Right then. How about we swap stories after we get your husband seen to, Marie? The place I'm taking you is just over that ridge."

He pointed to a craggy outcrop of razor sharp rocks. The track they were on swept up around it. There was no way of telling what lay beyond.

Mrs van de Kamp didn't have a choice.

The Ford rounded the outcrop. Before them opened a long, grassed valley. In the distance, nestled between two low hills was a dark, pointed structure—a roof, Liam guessed.

"I used to come here hunting sometimes," Mr de Rosier said. "It's a good base to head up into the mountains. You do any hunting?"

"Some." Just shooting around the farm. His father had promised him when he was older they'd go deeper into the ranges behind their property.

"It doesn't get used much these days; we should have it to ourselves."

The track was cut up from heavy rainfall. Mr de Rosier apologized when they dropped into an especially large rut and the car's suspension groaned.

They were all relieved when they pulled up outside the tiny hunting cabin. Mr de Rosier parked in a lean-to formed between the building and the hill. No one looking down on the valley from the direction they had come would be able to tell anyone was there.

Mr de Rosier was first out of the car.

"I'll check inside—make sure it's habitable," he said to Dr Scully, who was still trying to extract herself. Once she was out, she started stretching.

Liam's mother made no move. "Liam, why don't you go help, Mr de Rosier?"

"Go on, Liam," Mr van de Kamp said. "I'll be fine once we get inside."

Recognizing it would be pointless to argue, Liam climbed out the car and followed the path Mr de Rosier had taken.

There was no lock on the door, which was weathered and sagging on its hinges. Liam pushed it open and stood for a second, allowing his eyes to adjust.

The cabin was dark and small; there wasn't much to see. Beyond a bench, cupboards and a table was a fireplace along one long wall, and two sets of bunks on either side of a window at the far end.

From the hardened wax pools on the table and the lantern by the fire, Liam guessed the building had no electricity. Mr de Rosier removed blankets from drawers in a bureau under the window. Liam navigated his way around the rickety table.

Despite its ramshackle appearance, the cabin was tidy. Several old paperbacks (the top cover showed a man with a gun and deer) had been stacked on the bureau. A box of kindling and firewood, conveniently by the fire, was full—awaiting the next person to use the place.

_That's us_.

Mr de Rosier's brisk movements disturbed long-settled dust in the building. Liam's nose tickled as he breathed in.

The three able-bodied adults lifted Mr van de Kamp from the car and settled him on one of the bunks. Both women had wrinkled their noses at the sight of the bunks' blotchy mattresses. Dr Scully radiated vibes of disapproval. Mr van de Kamp, however, was less concerned.

"Just put me down before you drop me," he said.

As soon as he was on the bed, Dr Scully peeled back the bandage she had applied in the car. She didn't shoo Liam or his mother away as she examined the wound.

It was their first chance to see where Dr Scully had shot Mr van de Kamp. Angry, raw flesh on his dad's left inner thigh was testament to the bullet's power.

"This is where it entered and here's where it exited," Dr Scully said.

The bullet had more than grazed the surface of the leg but not a lot more. "It's unlikely the bullet shattered on impact, but without an x-ray I can't be one hundred percent certain nothing's left in there."

Liam's father stayed silent as Dr Scully swabbed the wound with an antiseptic pad, but he was pasty and his hands quivered.

Mr de Rosier approached, holding out a bottle of water and a packet of Tylenol. "It's the strongest stuff we've got."

Mr van de Kamp took the water and pills. He winced as the doctor started to apply fresh gauze and bandages to the leg.

"How's it looking, doc?" he asked gruffly.

"Sore—sorry." Her quiet apology was a surprise.

Liam's father's face betrayed nothing. "So why'd you do it?"

"Did you see any of what happened in the car back in that field?" She wasn't being sarcastic.

"Enough."

"Who would you rather be with right now—those men or here with us?"

He ignored her question. "You shot me."

"I'd do it again."

"You shoot me, then you save me?"

The doctor regarded him with a challenging stare.

"I was pretty angry," he said.

"Yes, you were."

"You shot me in front of my son. He saw everything."

"He did."

"You pull out a handgun—what was it? A sig?—and shoot me: a target moving rapidly away from you."

"I did."

"You say you were aiming for my leg. You put that bullet right where you wanted it; that's a pretty phenomenal shot. Are you sure _you're_ human?"

The question caught her off-guard. Liam had been watching them, listening to the exchange, like a rapt tennis fan watching a marathon volley between two supreme players. Dr Scully dropped the ball.

"Yes ... no." She cracked with emotion. It was impossible to tell if she was laughing or sobbing. She turned her head before Liam could see if there were tears in her eyes.

His father aimed for an ace.

"You saved my life. In fact, if everything you've been telling us is true, you've saved my life more than once, haven't you? Why? Why am I so important to you?"

There was no evasion, no attempt at deflection, but her answer came from a thousand miles away. "I made a promise a long, long time ago."

Liam and his father looked at each other.

"What promise?"

Dr Scully disregarded the question with a shake of her head and put her game mask back in place. Just as in the car, she had come round, taking control of the situation again.

"Dr Scully, you say you received a text giving you instructions that eventually led you to our farm. To us."

She nodded.

"Did you know us?"

She shook her head. "No ..."

There was a waver in her hesitancy.

"Did you know why you were being sent to us?"

She closed her eyes and drew in a large breath as though preparing herself for an awful confession which never came. Her eyes opened again.

"You are being targeted by supersoldiers, Mr van de Kamp," she said, tucking a blanket around him. "We were sent to save you."

His father read her blank expression, and seeing the walls had gone up, he did not pursue it. Dr Scully excused herself and retreated from the cabin. Her head was bowed: a defendant leaving the room while the jury deliberated.

Mr de Rosier, who had seated himself at the table, observed the exchange with interest. He was leaning back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head.

"Don't be too hard on her."

Liam's mother crossed the room to check outside. "What do you know about Dr Scully?"

Mr de Rosier shrugged. "Probably no more than she's already told you. She was an FBI agent for more than a decade. Most of that time was spent investigating cases that defied conventional explanation."

"Mr Mulder said the same thing yesterday," Liam's dad said.

He had drawn himself up into a sitting position, supported by the wall. Liam had climbed onto the foot of the bed.

"Of course, it was her involvement with the x-files—as those cases were called—which probably put her where she is today. What else do I know about Dr Scully?"

He studied the log roof. "Early on she was abducted by a madman—turned up in a coma a month or two later with absolutely no idea what happened to her. Been suffering since then. I understand there was some kind of family tragedy—work-related—a sister or a brother, maybe, was shot in Dr Scully's apartment. A case of mistaken identity. After that she nearly died from artificially-induced cancer. Seems I remember something about a lost child as well."

"Artificially-induced cancer?" Mr van de Kamp said, incredulous, a half-second before his wife jumped in.

"Lost child?" Thought lines spread on her forehead.

Mr de Rosier frowned. "She didn't tell you this?"

"In hindsight, I can see why she wouldn't," Mr van de Kamp said.

"No. I suppose not. I—ah—I didn't tell you, okay?" Mr de Rosier said.

"No, no, man. If you don't feel comfortable—"

"I want to know."

Liam's mom fixed Mr de Rosier with a firm stare. He wouldn't be going anywhere until he told her everything.

He cleared his throat.

"Well, Dr Scully was one of a number of women who developed a rare brain tumor. All claimed to be alien abductees or had inexplicable periods of being missing. They believed the cancer was a result of procedures or experiments done on them during their abductions."

Dr Scully _had_ been kidnapped by aliens.

_I was right!_

Liam started to point this out but stopped when his mother gave him the "zip it" finger. Now was not the time to gloat.

"All of 'em—except Dr Scully—passed away." Mr de Rosier scratched his head in the manner of someone trying to recall long forgotten memories. "They called it a miraculous recovery. Spontaneous remission."

Mrs van de Kamp ran her hand through her hair. "And the lost child?"

"That was more peculiar. Something about scientists harvesting her ova and creating a little girl as one of their experiments." Mr de Rosier's cheeks had gone flame red. "Story goes Dr Scully found the little girl after the kid's parents died. Kid died too, apparently, but not before Dr Scully tried to adopt her."

Liam's mother relaxed; her stance loosened and her next question was less intense. "When was this?"

She checked outside again. When she nodded the all-clear to Mr de Rosier, he answered.

"I'm not sure about exact details, but a few years before your young fellow was born."

The story of the lost child confused Liam; what relationship did Dr Scully have to the child? Liam _knew_ Mr de Rosier was implying something. But she couldn't be the kid's mom—Mr de Rosier said the girl's parents died. But there was a special reason why the doctor wanted to adopt _her_ in particular.

Which got him thinking about his own adoption. He would have to ask his mother if there was a special reason why they adopted him.

Mrs van de Kamp shook her head. "How does one assimilate all this? How is it _you_ know about supersoldiers and no one else has ever heard of them?"

Reading between the lines, Liam knew she was really saying, "You're normal—how come you believe this so easily?"

Mr de Rosier grinned.

"It's cliché. I don't even remember how old I was when I first started having 'experiences.' I got off luckier than others. I don't remember much—and none of it frightening. It was just something that happened. I probably deluded myself into thinking it was normal but I never dared tell anyone. I wasn't as regular as some of the others. But that final time ...

"The final time all I remember is coming to in a camp with about fifty others, every one of them as dazed as I was. We were popping up all-but-dead in fields all over the place. There was a group of people who dedicated themselves to finding us and healing us—I don't know how. From what I've been told, if they hadn't found me and healed me, I'd have been breaking _into_ the car today—not trying to escape."

Liam found that prospect horrifying but intriguing. "You would have been a supersoldier?"

"So I'm told. After a month or so of rehabilitation, I was allowed to leave the camp. They gave us advice: don't return home; move somewhere rural, out-of-the-way. We're not supposed to draw attention to ourselves."

Mr van de Kamp snorted. "I think your cover got blown today."

"A sacrifice I was willing to make." Mr de Rosier straightened in his chair. "We knew as soon as we got the text we'd have less than a day to get out of the area."

"We?" Mrs van de Kamp said.

"Another piece of advice they gave us at the camp: don't go it alone, if you can. I got on well with some other abductees. Five of us decided to settle in Fremont County. Actually, I was born in Lander, so it was like coming home for me."

He looked at Liam. "I hunted in these hills when I was a kid—back when things were much, much simpler.

"The five of us—we don't get together much but we do keep an eye on each other. We keep in touch via coded cellphone messages, email, that sort of thing. Things are usually pretty quiet around here. We had been keeping our eye on a couple of newcomers—the men in the patrol car who tried to run you off the road. We don't know why they're here—we don't want to risk getting too close—but we waited _and_ we watched."

His smile reached his eyes. "My cellphone woke me up this morning. I don't know. In some ways I feel—after ten long years—I finally woke up today ..."

The room fell silent.

"I don't have much else to offer. Being an abductee doesn't make you real popular. And it can be difficult, not just for you, but your family ..."

Liam searched for the right word to describe Mr de Rosier. Sturdy sprang to mind: he was big, he seemed kind-hearted, he was dependable—he came to their aid after all. He couldn't imagine Mr de Rosier not getting on with anyone.

After a pause Mr van de Kamp spoke. "When did you come back to Fremont County?"

Mr de Rosier had to think. "Hmm. Ten years ago. Eleven?"

"And no one's bothered you until now? You were never abducted again?"

"Since that final time, they haven't touched me."

"How do you know they haven't just lost interest in you? And why bother hiding if you're no good to them anymore?"

Mr de Rosier was giving his parents a lot to mull over.

"You're right. It's not like the public believes us when we try and warn them. Truth is we don't know what these aliens want. According to the man who healed me, there's no way I could ever be turned into a supersoldier now. Also, we have no idea if the aliens know we're alive. Abductees typically have small, metallic objects implanted in them; when victims are in their "pre-supersoldier phase"—when they are either healed or taken over—they no longer have those implants. They must have been removed for some reason.

"Some speculate the implants are locator beacons that help them track abductees. They hypothesize supersoldiers no longer need them because they have a hive mind and communicate telepathically. Therefore they do not require the implants. But I don't know. Since all my implants are gone—maybe they're not tracking me anymore. Still, I don't want to take any chances."

"You've basically been healed, you said. So, there's some kind of cure—or a vaccine—against it? Against being a supersoldier?"

"You're asking the wrong person," Mr de Rosier replied. "Dr Scully's your man for that question."

"Mr de Rosier—"

"Garrett, please."

"Garrett, how do you know so much about Dr Scully? Was she also healed in a camp like you?"

Mr de Rosier laughed.

"Healed? No, not as far as I know. Agent Mulder, on the other hand ... Once you're interested in these things you do what everyone else with a computer and curiosity does—you look it up on the internet.

"Dr Scully and Agent Mulder have achieved cult status among ufologists and abductees alike. They've never been secretive about their work. In fact, getting it out there was kind of the whole point. Trouble was, 'getting it out there' somehow got shortened to 'out there.' It's a hard sell to a cynical market. Face it—you're proof."

"So we could just go online and find out all about Dr Scully? It would be as easy as that?"

"There'd be some info. Most of it's dated, though. Agent Mulder and Agent Scully went off the radar some time ago when they left the FBI. But people still talk about them—gossip, rumor, it's all out there." He laughed. "Their 'agent' titles are a hangover from the old days. I guess you could say they have a lot of underground support. None of us hesitated this morning. We all got identical texts. We coordinated our rescue as fast as we were able."

They were back on to the text messages. Liam wondered where the doctor was and if she was staying away to give them time to interrogate Mr de Rosier. But if they were going to discuss the texts, shouldn't they get her back?

"But you don't know who sent them?" His parents were beginning to see the importance of the messages.

"No," Mr de Rosier said. "Sometimes you just have to believe."

"But believe in what?" Mrs van de Kamp asked.

Mr van de Kamp was concerned about something else.

"The five of you who helped us this morning—you all have to flee today? Where are you going? Where are your friends?"

"I'm to get you to safety. The others will head in separate directions. Our helpful texter has promised further assistance."

After sitting so long on the bed, Liam made a face. One leg had gone to sleep. Sensing his discomfort, his mother had a quick solution.

"Why don't you go outside for bit, honey? You've been sitting most the morning."

He didn't feel like arguing. He looked at his father.

"Go on," Mr van de Kamp said. "I'm alright. Dr Scully's patched me up well."

Liam's feet prickled when he stood on them, but the opportunity to move about was a relief. There was only one place to go. He hobbled outside.

He found the doctor pacing between the car and the cabin, literally worrying a path through the tall grass. The murmur of voices drifted from the cabin, low but distinct. Dr Scully had probably listened to their entire conversation without even trying to eavesdrop.

"Dr Scully?"

She turned on a smile for him. In spite of everything, her happiness was genuine. Coming from someone else, the smile would have seemed like condescension.

Liam wasn't stupid. He knew Suzie Craddock's trip to Disney World would sound like a boring trip to the Kemmerer museum compared to the excitement he was having.

And, because he wasn't stupid, he knew this was the kind of fun his parents didn't appreciate. He had seen things he shouldn't have.

Maybe normal adults would be downplaying it—or putting on a sunny face to convince him everything was okay.

But Dr Scully wasn't most adults. Although she might not always tell them everything—and the left-out bits seemed important—Liam had the feeling the doctor was trying to be honest with his family; she wouldn't pretend the situation wasn't dangerous.

Liam was grateful for her happiness. Seeing her genuinely happy was more reassuring than weapons or getaway cars. Still, like so many things about the doctor, her joy at seeing him was unnerving. As lovable as he was, he knew he wasn't _that_ lovable.

"What is it, Liam?"

Whatever her worries had been moments ago, she brushed them aside while she talked to him.

They had come a long way since the nasty scene in the living room at the house in Wamsutter. When she leaned against the car, arms crossed, he joined her, mirroring her pose.

He couldn't be angry with her for shooting his dad. She'd had her reasons. And when his mother had frozen in front of the supersoldiers, she'd been there, too, helping Liam push Mrs van de Kamp into the car.

"Dad's not really angry."

The happy expression vanished—not the reaction he was expecting.

"What I mean is, he's not very happy you shot him, but he doesn't blame you ... probably."

The doctor tapped a finger against her chin.

"I see," she said. "Well, he should."

Liam tried to protest.

"No, Liam. I _am_ sorry I shot your dad. It was a foolish thing to do. I could have killed him."

"Then why did you do it?" Liam asked. Not for the first time today he found himself frustrated with grownups.

"Because the alternative would have been worse," she said. "I lost my father—it doesn't matter how old you are—it hurts. I wouldn't want that for you. If I hadn't stopped him, there'd have been no way to save him. I'm sorry."

"He'd be dead." He wanted her to know he understood.

"Or as good as."

"Your dad—he didn't—it wasn't supersoldiers, was it?"

"Supersoldiers? Dad? Oh, gosh, no. No, that was long before ... my dad had a heart attack."

"I'm sorry," he said, awkwardly patting her on the arm.

"So am I, Liam. So am I."

"Dr Scully? Is Mr Mulder ...?"

Her hand plucked at the cross on the chain around her neck.

Liam tried again. "How will Mr Mulder find us?"

Her smile was sad as she rubbed the cross. "If you ever get lost, Liam, Mulder will always know where to find you. I don't know how he does it, but he does—always. I'm not going to worry—not yet. I refuse to."

She jumped when the now familiar buzz of the cellphone rang from her pocket. The sound carried; everyone's ears must have been attuned to it. Liam's mother appeared in the doorway of the cabin.

Dr Scully checked the message.

"I need to talk to your parents and Mr de Rosier."

Together they headed back to the cabin.

For once no one needed to cajole the doctor into talking.

"We have to leave." She put a calming hand up. "We're not being followed, but it's only a matter of time. The sooner we leave, the harder it is for them to find us."

She looked at Mr de Rosier. "We need to follow the track further into the valley and leave by another route which branches off north-west."

Mr de Rosier scratched his head. "Swindlers Pass. It'll be a challenge—the track may be washed out—but we should be able to make it."

"There's a town called Atlantic City not far off on the other side," Dr Scully said. "We're supposed to wait there."

"For what?"

Her upbeat tone flagged. "I don't know."

"Dr Scully?" Mr de Rosier hesitated. "Any word on Agent Mulder?"

"Nothing yet," she said breezily.

The longer Mr de Rosier stared at her, the paler she went, until the smile vanished from her face and she bit her lip. "Whoever is sending these texts doesn't know Mulder is not with us."

She sighed. "The message I just got—it was addressed to 'M.' Whoever sent it can't know about Mulder."


	9. Chapter 9

August 10, 2011  
Fremont County  
Wyoming

They left the cabin as they found it.

Liam labored with a large woolen blanket while the adults helped Mr van de Kamp limp to the car.

When Mr de Rosier returned, he picked up a leather bound book from a shelf. He flicked through it with an occasional chuckle.

After one last look at it, the big man put the logbook back.

"They say you can't go back, but sometimes you can, Liam."

He grabbed one end of the blanket Liam was struggling with and they folded it together, squaring the edges. Liam reached for the last blanket left on the bed, but Mr de Rosier stopped him.

"You'll probably need it in the car." He spun on his heel and waited to close the door behind them.

Dr Scully allowed the van de Kamps to sit together. Mr de Rosier predicted the ride over Swindlers Pass would be bumpy and Liam's dad would handle it better if he sat upright.

Since her revelation about Mr Mulder, the doctor had shut down; without discussion, she took the front seat.

Before he got in, Mr de Rosier examined the cracked driver's window, prodding and knocking loose the wobbly glass pane.

He was slow to start the car and when he did, he let the engine idle. He looked over the rugged hills and mountain faces much the way he had looked over the cabin.

Dr Scully touched his arm. "We shouldn't really waste anymore time."

He nodded.

"Well, van de Kamp family," he said. "Say goodbye to the valley. It's been a good little haven over the years. I got a lot of good, good memories of this place."

Liam thought the man was being weird; his mother was fussing over his father, and neither appeared to be listening.

"A good little haven."

Liam had some idea what to expect from the ride—he still had a sore spot on top of his head where it had smacked the roof on the way into the valley—but further along was even worse. Tossed from side to side, Liam wondered if they were driving up a rocky, giant staircase. His dad bore the jostling with jokes delivered through gritted teeth.

"I'm disappointed, Garrett," he said after his head struck the window with a wince-inducing thunk. "I thought you were taking us along the hard route."

Mr de Rosier's laugh was deep and hearty.

At last the track evened out.

Dr Scully twisted in her seat to scan the area. "Are you sure this is the right way?"

The valley floor was beginning to sweep up, and they had gone almost as far as they could. Ahead rose the impenetrable base of a mountain range.

Liam realized he'd been deceived: from a distance the mountains had just seemed like hills; up close, his mistake seemed stupid. The sides of the valley were like long roots stretching down from the looming peak. There was no way they would be able to pass it unless a helicopter picked them up and dumped them on the other side.

Unless there was a tunnel?

Not a tunnel. Mr de Rosier told them to look back. He pointed out a brown, broken line zig-zagging up the northern side of the valley, right to the top of a saddle ridge between two peaks.

"It's an unofficial shortcut hunters have been using for years. It's not marked on any kind of map and, unless you know what you're looking for, you don't notice it from this track. It'll get us to an old mine access road on the other side."

The trip up Swindlers Pass was slow and scary, but it was a good kind of scary. On any other day Liam might have enjoyed it. The track seemed no more than a dirt path cut by animals. He stopped counting how often they came close to rolling sideways; the track wasn't even. At times he swung from his handhold while his mom squished into his dad. Suzie Craddock wouldn't find a roller coaster at Disney World scarier than this.

The higher they got, the steeper the drop became and, despite the sunshine, a chilly wind whistling through the broken window turned the car into an icebox. As he huddled under it, Liam was thankful Mr de Rosier had suggested he take the extra blanket. It was strange to be so cold in August.

Mr de Rosier didn't seem fazed by the temperature or the danger. He kept up a running commentary, pointing out landscape features and recounting old hunting tales. His stories were colorful and humorous and took Liam's mind off the plunging cliff.

And, just like that, it was over; the track flattened and they were on the cusp of the ridge.

Reaching the top brought its own reward. Grinning, and with no warning, Mr de Rosier stopped the car. "I don't care who's chasing us. Would you get a look at that."

If Dr Scully was worried about supersoldiers catching up, she didn't let on. Arms wrapped across her chest, she climbed from the vehicle and stood beside Mr de Rosier. Tendrils of hair whipped about her face, which was as inscrutable as ever.

"Are you sure you want—" Liam's mother asked his father when he shifted in the vehicle.

"And miss this?"

The pride in Mr de Rosier's voice was unmistakable. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

Huddled together from the blustery wind, Liam's parents agreed.

"It's _almost_ like being on top of the world!" Liam said.

"Almost?" Dr Scully had a small smile.

In every direction mountains rose, some close and some far away. Of course, they'd always been there—but higher up, he could feel their presence on a scale he'd never imagined. And, of course, he'd never seen them all at one time. Liam wheeled about, feeling at the same time both insignificant and mighty; here, he was just a very small speck in a massive world—but his vision stretched so far he could see everything.

It was worth more than the miseries of feeling chilled or scared by the ride to the top.

"Over there, Liam. Do you know what that is?" his father said, raising his voice against the rush of wind.

Liam squinted at the features his father pointed to. "Yellowstone!"

They had visited the park a couple of times, but this was the first time Liam had appreciated the mountains.

"That means Tessa and home's that way, right?" He pointed southwest.

Miles and miles away, dense and hilly forest stands ran in and out of flatlands bordered by a river—a snaking gray ribbon wrapping itself about the feet of the mountains.

A hand tapped his shoulder.

"Look ..." Words died on Dr Scully's lips.

In a fold of slope below them, among swathes of rippling grass, a dark shape and another and then more, walked along the edge of the hill.

Liam had seen enough mounted stag heads to recognize elk. Overhead, thin cloud veiled the sun, casting a dazzling light over the animals.

Liam felt outside himself—dissolved into his own vision, seeping into the earth and the air. Dr Scully squeezed his shoulder when the last elk turned its head, its antlers tall and proud.

The moment could not last forever.

The elk threw back his head and sailed over the ridge line—the haze lifting with his leap. The outlines of the landscape sharpened and Liam felt back in the real world again.

He turned on Mr de Rosier. "You could live your whole life up here!"

"Why do you think I keep coming back?"

It was hard to draw themselves away from the moment.

"We can't stay here freezing all day," Mr de Rosier said. But once again, although he hurried them along, he was the last into the car.

He surveyed their surroundings one last time—like the elk.

As he ducked his head getting into the vehicle, Liam had the momentary illusion that large antlers protruded from the man's head. The thought made Liam both sad _and_ happy, but he didn't know why he should feel this way.

In the car Liam couldn't stop himself talking about the experience. Even his parents had been moved.

Dr Scully kept her thoughts on the subject to herself while Mr de Rosier appeared to be concentrating on his driving. They started the downward traverse, and he told the doctor where to find some field glasses in another compartment.

She used them to see the road below.

Heading down the hill was less exciting than going up, although the track was no less steep, nor scary. Satisfied no one was waiting at the bottom to ambush them, Mr de Rosier accelerated and took them out onto a gravel road.

It was a better road than the one that had taken them into the valley, and they made better progress, but the area was just as empty. They were alone on the dry route for miles. Faint rumblings in his stomach told Liam lunch time wasn't far off. There were no houses and definitely no shops to stop at; by the look of it, there wouldn't be any for miles to come.

The road continued to wind over undulating fields, passing in and out of arid grassland and parched, cracking tree copses; eventually Liam found the only way to combat his hunger was to close his eyes and nap.

He woke, sleepy and overheated. A swirling cloud of dust on the road in front of them was the first evidence of human activity he had seen all day.

"Traffic from the mine," Mr de Rosier said. "We're not far from Atlantic City. Population—fewer than fifty. There's a few people who still work the mines and the town attracts tourists in summer and winter."

As they came over a rise, they were afforded a view of the tiny town spread over a gentle hill.

Uneasiness grew at the sight of the houses—few as they were. Dr Scully drew out her handgun.

But they didn't head into town. Dr Scully checked the cellphone and directed Mr de Rosier down a side road away from the built-up area. They pulled up beside a row of large pine trees.

Mr de Rosier surveyed the area in doubt. "This is it?"

"Yes."

"And we just wait?"

"It would seem so."

Wincing, Mr van de Kamp leaned forward. "You still don't know what we're waiting for?"

"No."

There was little noise outside the vehicle—just the clack of insects, the faint nickers of horses in a field, and the rustle of a breeze in branches. Liam's stomach gurgled.

No one mentioned food—or their lack of it.

Baking pine needles filled the car with a crisp, woody aroma. It was the smell of freedom and relaxation; lying under the pine trees at home on a hot day was one of Liam's favorite summertime treats. He found himself wishing for a less exciting vacation.

Dr Scully glanced at her watch. "Where are they?"

She didn't have long to wait. The distant drone of an engine was followed by steaming brakes.

"Dr Scully," Liam asked, "is that it?"

He was surprised her jaw hadn't dropped. He doubted she was expecting a large, silver touring bus. They watched the bus slow, its wheels crunching on the gravel.

It stopped opposite them and Liam saw a husky painted on it.

Despite its cheerful appearance, Liam was anxious to see who would step off. He wasn't the only one. He heard a jangle as Mr de Rosier fumbled to put the key back in the ignition.

Shapes moved behind the coach's tinted windows. The door was on the other side. Liam heard it hiss as it opened.

When a figure in army fatigues stepped into view, his heartbeat took off in a sprint.

His fear was fleeting, though. This was no supersoldier.

The young man's chest was bare and his pants were rolled up to his calves. He wore sandals. His hair was piled around his head, like a brown turban. Liam bet it itched worse than poison ivy and wondered how the man ever brushed it. Maybe he never brushed it? Would his own sandy brown hair look the same if his mother wasn't so regular with a brush and comb?

Dark sunglasses hid the man's eyes but his mouth was spread wide in delight.

"Pinch me," Dr Scully said to no one. "This is not happening."

"We can outrun the bus—no problem. Want me to drive?" Mr de Rosier said.

The grinning man padded across the road.

The doctor sighed. "No. Not yet, at least."

Her hand tightened around the gun.

"Stop right there," Mr de Rosier called through the broken window.

The man obeyed. He halted in the middle of the road and put his hands up. He wasn't in the least bit supersoldiery. He bent and spied Dr Scully.

"It _is_ you!" His grin seemed glued on. "This is just _too_ unreal. And you got here before we did!"

Dr Scully gave a weak smile.

"Give me a minute," she said to Mr de Rosier and the van de Kamps. She was out of the car gesturing at the man before Mr de Rosier could protest.

"You're sure Dr Scully knows what she's doing?" Mrs van de Kamp asked Mr de Rosier.

About twenty paces in front of them, Dr Scully stopped. The man turned, putting his back to her, and she stepped on tiptoes to inspect his neck.

She put her hand to her own neck and tore the bandage away.

Liam remembered Dr Scully inspecting Mr de Rosier the same way. "What's she doing?"

"Always look at the back of their necks, Liam," he said. "A nodule at the base of the neck—it's the only obvious sign you might be dealing with a supersoldier. They've all got them. It's the only easy way we can identify them."

The doctor and the man were now engaged in conversation. He flung his arms about, stuck his thumb out (indicating the bus) and finished with a flourish of palm rubbing.

Dr Scully said something. The man's shoulders sagged, like she'd just punctured his balloon. Liam laughed, but a second later the man was jogging across the road and beckoning to Dr Scully.

Mr de Rosier was halfway out of the car, ready to rescue her, when she waved him back.

She disappeared behind the bus and Liam sucked in a breath, not releasing it until she reappeared a minute later, leading the young man and a large, older man to the car.

"The University of Washington," she said without a hint of humor, "has come to our rescue."

"Hello!" The strange man with the bird's nest hair waved through the window and fixed his perpetual grin on Liam's father. "Let me help you out there, Harry."

How did he know their names? He put a hand out and Mr van de Kamp reached out to accept it. The doctor didn't stop the man, but when Liam's mom hopped out to support her husband, Dr Scully turned to him.

"Look, Alan—was it?" She used her no-nonsense voice. "Can you let me have a word with the van de Kamps?"

The man backed off. "Sure thing, Dr Scully. But you'd better do it quick. We don't want to be hanging round here too much longer."

She watched him retreat.

"Dr Scully?" Liam's mom said.

The doctor turned to Liam's parents. "Do you trust me?"

They shared an uncertain glance.

"You have a choice to make. Maybe you haven't made up your minds yet. Maybe this _is_ simply too much to accept in a day. Maybe you're scared to accept what I've told you, what Mulder's told you, what Garrett told you."

She ducked her head.

"I need to tell you another scary thing. That bus"—she nodded in its direction—"is probably your only chance at reaching safety.

"I can use my gun—force you to come with me—but I don't want to do that. You have to make a decision. God knows I don't want you to do it, but if you want to stay here, find your own way home, and take your own chances when you get there, I'll let you go."

Dr Scully's eyes fell on Liam. He stared back at her, watching her mouth sour, as though she had eaten something putrid.

"Or, you can put your trust wholly in me. You decide—but whatever decision you make, you need to make it now, because if you get on that bus there won't be any going back."

She walked away, leaving his parents in shock.

Mr de Rosier was still in earshot. "Dr Scully, are you sure ..."

Liam didn't hear her response.

His parents had put their heads together in urgent discussion. He was left out until his mother knelt beside him at the car's door.

"Lee, honey. Do you understand what Dr Scully said to us?"

"We don't have to go with her. She'll let us go—if we want to."

"Sweetie, I'm so proud of you. Never forget that." She took a deep breath. "We want to know how you feel about all this, Liam. It's our decision to make—Dad's and mine—but this affects you too."

"Those supersoldiers were real, Mom." He didn't need anyone making up his mind on that score. If his parents thought otherwise, that temper tantrum he'd refused to stoop to at the gas station the day before might come in handy now.

He needn't have worried.

"They looked pretty real from where I was sitting, too," she said. "But Dr Scully's unpredictable. She shot Dad, remember?"

"But Dad's still alive. If those soldiers had gotten to him ..."

Just thinking about it made him sick. When he had told Dr Scully his father would have died if he had been left with the supersoldiers, he had known it was the truth. What hadn't hit him then, was just how close that had come to happening. His eyes filled, forcing him to brush them with his hand.

"Do you know what you want us to do, Liam?"

He nodded.

"Can you tell me?"

He willed his words to come out steady.

"I want us to go home," he said. "I want us to go home and feed Blue and take Sal for a run and find a better home for Jerry. But home's not really there anymore, is it?"

"We don't know that for sure, Lee."

He shook his head. "Mom? I think we should stay with Dr Scully."

"So do I, Liam," his mother said as she wrapped him in a hug. "So help me, God—so do I."

"Guess that settles it," Liam's dad said.

The man with the hair was already stepping over to lead him to the bus. Overcome with a need to make sure his dad was really there, Liam extracted himself from his mother's hug and pushed in under his dad's arm.

"What does your leg feel like now, Dad?" Hearing his father was the only thing which could banish the awfulness of realizing just how close he had come to losing him.

As they passed Dr Scully, she nodded.

If the doctor felt she'd claimed a victory in winning them over, she gave nothing away, and she was quiet as they made their way to the bus.

* * *

It took Liam five seconds to decide he liked their new mode of transport. When his head popped around the tiny stairwell, he counted ten adults. Two looked up from papers and said hello as he made his way slowly down the aisle.

Not everyone appeared to be paying them attention; one man near the back, curled into the corner of his seat, was ensconced in a book. _Many Worlds Interpretation of Quantum Mechanics,_ Liam read _._ Beside him a piece of paper was scribbled with chains of numbers. He didn't lift his head to acknowledge any of the newcomers.

Liam didn't want to be caught staring, so he followed his parents past a tied-up curtain which divided the back from the front of the bus.

This was no ordinary touring coach; the back contained a sink and cupboards, and several beds set on the walls.

"We ripped out the back stalls to make room for some mattresses and stuff to—you know—give it a more homey feel," Alan said. "Anyways, welcome aboard and please enjoy your Greyhound experience—UDub style."

"Give it a rest, Hirsch," a voice said. "There's no universe anywhere, ever, where that joke was funny."

Liam had to agree.

Peeping around the divide, Liam decided the man practicing sums and reading was the source of the voice.

Alan didn't seem offended; if anything his grin grew wider.

"We'll do introductions once we get back on the road. We've got a strict itinerary to stick to and orders to get you out of Wyoming ASAP," he said.

Mr van de Kamp eased himself onto a bed, examining the bus and its modifications.

"I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation why a Washington State University bus is deep in No Man's Land, Wyoming," he said.

Alan chuckled. "I don't know that there is—unless you count driving to the aid of one half of the Internet's most wanted duo."

He looked to the front of the bus where Dr Scully was talking to the large man who had taken the driver's seat.

There was no room for Liam in the back. He took a seat opposite the man doing math and looked out the window. The Ford was no longer parked on the other side of the road.

Mr de Rosier appeared from behind some trees and Liam guessed he had moved the car out of sight. The bus engine was already running. The bus driver was waiting for him to board.

Mr de Rosier bounded up the steps but halted in the aisle. The creases about his eyes suggested he was stuck on a thought.

Their driver didn't waste any time. "If you're sure there's nothing else you want from the car, we'll get a move on. We've got a long way to go today."

"Wait." Dr Scully pushed past Mr de Rosier and off the bus. She wasn't gone long. She returned clutching a small container.

_The finger._

"I'm sorry," Dr Scully said to the bus driver as she paused to recover beside Mr de Rosier, who still hadn't taken a seat.

"Doctor ..." Mr de Rosier touched her arm.

The disparity in their heights forced her to crane her head.

"I can't go with you."

Dr Scully stared at him. "But—"

"I'll meet up with you later," he said. "There's something I have to do."

"It's not safe. Your life—"

"Just got going again." He signaled the driver to wait, then made his way up to Liam's parents.

He put his hand out. "Goodbye, Harry, Marie. I'm grateful I could help. You made the right decision today."

Liam scrambled to his feet. Mr de Rosier gave him no time to attack.

"Goodbye, Liam. Be good to your parents. Remember, when you meet someone new, check the base of their neck. One more thing"—his grin spread—"sometimes, Liam, you _can_ go home."

Liam felt like the floor was disappearing under his feet. "I thought you were coming with us?"

You couldn't share an experience like the supersoldiers and just _go back._ Even his parents had realized that. First Mr Mulder and Jerry, now Mr de Rosier. His third goodbye in two days if he counted leaving his home and his pets. It wasn't right.

Dr Scully recovered enough to join him. "Why?"

The corners of Garrett de Rosier's mouth stretched up. "I woke up today, Dr Scully. And what do you know? I've still got some life to love."

Dr Scully's eyes widened just as they had when she watched Liam with the elk on the mountain. "Your family ..."

"Maybe." His face was bright with hope.

"I'm no fool," he said, sensible and solid again. "I know what's happening to the world. I know it's happening faster than expected. It—it didn't matter yesterday, but today—if I don't try ..."

Liam nearly yelled at the doctor when she tipped her head in the smallest nod. Mr de Rosier would do exactly what she told him to do if she ordered him. Why didn't she order him to stay? Instead she was going to let him go. He couldn't believe how stupid the grownups were being.

"Please don't take any unnecessary risks," was all Dr Scully said.

"I don't aim to."

Before Dr Scully had a choice in the matter, he closed the space between them and bear-hugged her.

"Good luck, Agent Scully. You tell Agent Mulder when this is over I'm looking forward to meeting him one day."

The doctor regained her voice as he was stepping from the bus. "At least tell us where you're going?"

His answer sailed over his shoulder as he hopped down with a lively leap. "Lander ... she's in Lander."

He disappeared with a jaunty whistle.

Their bus driver swung around in his seat to glare at them. "No one else wants this stop? Good. Can we go now?"

Liam pressed his head against the window pane, trying not to lose sight of Mr de Rosier. Perhaps if he kept his eyes on him, he just wouldn't be able to go?

Their early morning rescuer stood, his hand lifting in a wide wave. His figure shrank as the bus gathered speed. Just for a second, in the shimmer of dust and bright sunshine, he appeared bathed in the same light which had settled on the mountaintop. The bus swept around a corner and he was gone.

Liam kicked the seat in front of him. He brought his fist down on the cushion, once, twice and a third time. His stomach betrayed him—again. The man doing math raised an eyebrow.

Liam glowered, not caring if his behavior was rude.

"Hey, Hirsch, we got a feral one here. Got any food to tame it?"

The bus had everything. At the mention of food, a happy chattering broke out.

Alan Hirsch dropped a roughly-made sandwich and an apple into Liam's hands.

Liam's stomach was so excited by the prospect of lunch he forgot to be angry, but once he'd wolfed down the sandwich and the apple (he ate so quickly he couldn't remember what was in the sandwich) the food seemed to fuel his bad temper, and he sat scowling and ignoring the changing scenery and bubbling voices about him.

With so many new people he was not going to be allowed to stew for too long.

Mathman put his book down and spent five minutes studying Liam over steepled fingers. Liam ignored the man, refusing to be goaded. He was unprepared when mathman made his move.

"You look like you could do with some cheering up," he said, ambushing Liam's surly sulk. "Hey, Shoe!"

A black head rose over the seat in front of him.

"You on the net, Shoe?"

" _So da, Toby-san_."

"Bet the kid here doesn't know how famous Agent Scully is!"

Liam went on pretending to be uninterested.

"Go on," mathman said with a nod. "Shoe'll show you the best thing on the net ever, kiddo."

Liam knew he was being invited to look at something. He hesitated until the Asian man appeared with a tablet.

Liam made a face. "Is your name really Shoe?"

"Shu. S-h-u. Short for Shuichiro." The man spoke with a strong accent.

"You're Japanese. Like Ichiro!"

" _Not_ like Ichiro." Shu patted his rounded stomach. He shifted the tablet to give Liam a better view. " _D_ _ō_ _zo._ "

Liam read the Federal Bureau of Investigation banner and saw a series of black and white head shots set about a large caption: _"FBI's 10 Most Wanted Fugitives._ "

"Cool—hey!" His initial interest transformed into surprise when he took a closer look at two faces peering back at him: Dr Scully and Mr Mulder. There were long lists under their names: abduction, escaping custody, conspiracy to commit murder, murder, conspiracy to defraud the United States public, treason.

He didn't understand everything, but it didn't get worse than murder or abduction.

"That's not all," Shu said, oblivious to Liam's increasing confusion. He tapped the photo of Dr Scully.

The FBI banner was still there. Below it was a map of the country (plus Canada and Mexico) with red spots dotted all over it.

"This is the best part!" Shu said. "Each dot is a confirmed sighting of the FBI's most wanted duo ... _Ara_? New sighting at 11am in Raleigh, North Carolina!"

A loud cheer went up in the bus.

"What's in Raleigh?" Liam asked.

"Agents Scully and Mulder, of course."

"But ..."

When Shu tapped a link, an image loaded. Liam watched in increasing amazement as a photo revealed itself. The couple _looked_ like Dr Scully and Mr Mulder—kind of—except it was obvious they weren't. They were clearly wearing wigs, and the suits they had on didn't look right—far too small—and they were handcuffed together. Liam could tell they were handcuffed because they were both holding up a sign and the cuffs were obvious against their upraised wrists. The sign made no sense either: "We support S and M!"

Mathman poked his head over the seat and laughed. "Brilliant! Save that one, Shu."

To Liam, he said, "You're looking at the most important website in the world at the moment, kiddo. This is the free world's appeal to sanity."

Liam was lost in this conversation.

"See," mathman said, "when the FBI announced three days ago it wanted a little help locating a couple of former employees, a few people decided to help them out. Somewhere in the world a very helpful hacker created the _very_ official-looking upload program and map site, and linked it all to the FBI.

"Now people are able to tell the feds exactly where former Agents Mulder and Scully are with the click of a button. They can even upload images and video if they download the special software designed solely for this purpose. It's proving very popular. The site's had over a half a million hits and more than ten thousand uploads!"

Liam cocked his head. "I don't get it. This says Dr Scully and Mr Mulder were in North Carolina half an hour ago."

"And twenty minutes before that they were in Florida!" Shu said.

Mathman's smile was vicious. "The FBI won't be taking any of these sightings seriously, but I bet it's giving them a real headache double checking just in case. Then on top of that they have to work out who hacked their system and how they can fix it."

"But what does it mean?"

"It means, kiddo, that at least ten thousand citizens on Planet Earth think the American Government's up to something sneaky, and a pair of former agents named Mulder and Scully are worth going out on a limb for.

"It means at least ten thousand people woke up today knowing war's on their doorstep, and they have to act now.

"It's telling people not to give up, not to give in, because hope _lives_... and there is somebody worth fighting for!"


	10. Chapter 10

August 11, 2011  
Old Hachita  
New Mexico

Liam blinked in darkness, unsure of his surroundings and fighting to remember how he had come to be here—wherever here was.

He was warm—hot, even—but when he tried to move, he found his arms pinned at his sides. He resisted an urge to struggle.

Think, Liam. You know where you are.

The surface beneath him was firm but uncomfortable. His neck was stiff; the pillow was thicker than he was used to.

I have a pillow—that has to be a good sign.

Something had woken him: not a dream—something else, something unsettling. The tick, tick, tick of a clock cracked in the quiet—that and shallow breathing to his side. All else was silent and still. He shifted, wincing at the rustle of the silky fabric encasing him.

Moonlight glowed under net curtains above him. His eyesight adjusted and he could make out the shape of a person lying across from him. He did recognize this place; he was still on the bus and he was cocooned in a sleeping bag he did not remember climbing into.

The bus was no longer vibrating. He hoped they would stop long enough for his brain to catch up; it was never this sluggish.

He could remembered his conversation with Shu and mathman, but that must have been hours ago; it had still been daylight then.

It—everything—had almost been too much to take in. It was possible mathman had been exaggerating when he said the hacked FBI website was the most important site in the whole world. Only, he clearly believed it—and so did his companions, although they had a funny way of showing it, grinning over photos and posts on the site.

Liam had screwed up his face as he listened to their joking. "If they know it's fake, why doesn't the FBI just ignore the website?"

"They probably are," mathman said, "but then there's the hundreds of calls. The website includes advice on how to sound convincing when calling the 1-800 hot line. I don't think the website alone is going to fool anyone—but it is going to tie up their resources, and that gives us a much better chance of slipping under the radar."

He was happy to answer Liam's questions, but he seemed to know no more than Mr Mulder or Mr de Rosier, and every question he answered came back to one thing: "War." Liam forced himself to stay expressionless so mathman wouldn't stop talking.

"Everyone on this bus wants to contribute to the war effort, kiddo. We've all got something to offer. And, see, the kind of war we'll be fighting is called a takeover and every good takeover deserves an equally determined resistance. But to be effective our resistance needs organization—and every good organization needs a headquarters."

"Like a secret hideout?"

"Exactly."

"Where's that?"

"I can't tell you, my friend, because I don't know. But I'm certain of one thing." His eyes went large behind the frames of his glasses. "We'll find it at the end of this bus journey."

They were passing through another dusty, dry valley. "Doesn't anyone know where we're going?"

"Wherever it is, Liam, I can tell you now—it's not in Wyoming."

"So how does the bus driver know where to go?"

"He's just following the instructions sent to him."

So they hadn't known either. How many hours ago was that conversation?

His father wheezed in a gulp of air. Liam rolled in the sleeping bag as disappointed now as he had been then.

Mathman had a name. He was Toby Smith and he, like Shu and Alan, was a student scientist.

They were and they weren't quite what Liam expected from scientists. Unless he was talking (when he tended to throw his arms about and speak at a gallop), Toby's nose was stuck in the middle of a book. Alan had that amazing hair and dirty feet but he was the one organizing everybody. Even the bus driver wasn't just a bus driver. Alan said he was a professor, which Liam knew was a very important job. They seemed to think it was hilarious Dr Scully and Mr Mulder were on the FBI's most-wanted list. Their manner toward Dr Scully, however, was never anything less than deferential and they were all eager to talk to her.

Shu and Toby had gone to introduce themselves to the doctor, who was on a seat up by the driver, leaving Liam alone. His mother checked on him once but quickly returned to Liam's dad at the back of the bus.

Left to himself, Liam had had time to grapple with the curious events of the last twenty-four hours of his life. It had been difficult to know where to start.

After seeing the supersoldiers in action, Liam had no doubt the world he thought he knew no longer existed—but it didn't really change the world that much ... did it?

Primed on any number of cartoons and movies about aliens, Liam found himself accepting his new world order. And he had a sense of belonging to a special club—a club which included everyone on the bus as well as Mr de Rosier and his friends; a club, at the center of which, stood the two FBI agents who had walked into Liam's life and up-ended it.

This didn't bother him; he absorbed the knowledge as quickly as he would that of a newly encountered symbol from the periodic table (Rb was currently his favorite). What he struggled to understand was his place in the club. He hadn't asked to be let in. He hadn't done anything special, hadn't gone looking for it. Why him? Why his parents? Why not Suzie Craddock? Or Jake the Snake? Or any of the other kids in his grade?

Early on he had asked Toby why everyone was helping Dr Scully; what he really meant was, "Why are you helping us?"

The unanswered question tormented Liam as he lay in the sleeping bag.

Why am I here?

He recalled his shock as he had scrolled through the charges listed against the doctor and Mr Mulder.

"If Dr Scully did all those things they say she did, why would anyone want to help her?"

Toby had stared at him. "Come on, kiddo. You don't believe she did any of that stuff, do you?"

"I don't know?" That was the truth—and it made him miserable.

"She's a pretty special lady," Toby said. "She and Agent Mulder have devoted their lives to uncovering truths. Their work hasn't gone unnoticed. As more and more people start looking for real answers to explain what's happening in their world today, her name's going to become even more well known. That makes her a target. It also makes her something else—a beacon of hope. People are going to gravitate to her because of who she is and what she represents."

"Is that why you rescued us?"

"Sure thing!"

Liam wanted to believe this was true. "But why you? Why me? Why Mom? Why Dad?"

Counting the professor, there were ten scientists on the bus, and all were from the University of Washington. Liam forgot the names of the older ones. They weren't unfriendly but since they stayed up front, he hadn't talked to them.

The bus was loaded with equipment and supplies to "build a secret headquarters"—which was where they were heading.

"Ostensibly," Alan had said once he stopped fussing around and sat down with them, "this is an interdepartmental field trip, involving lecturers and research staff from the med school's Department of Immunology and the School of Genome Sciences ... but really we're responding to a call-of-arms!"

He made it sound fun.

He was open when Dr Scully quizzed him on the subject of mysterious text messages. (Yes, they were following directions sent to his cellphone. No, he didn't personally know who was sending the messages, but a friend of a friend knew someone ...)

The doctor had been making her way to see Mr van de Kamp. Liam's mom had appeared and caught the tail end of Alan's explanation.

"They're very zealous," she had said in an undertone to the doctor. Their heads went close together, and Liam couldn't hear what passed between them. His mother told him to stay seated while she and Dr Scully slipped through the curtain.

After the kidnapping, the house-breaking, the car chase and the escape over the mountain, time slowed on the bus. There was nothing much for Liam to do but brood so that, now, lying still in the darkness, he wondered if the whole adventure had been a dream and he was really lying at home in his own bed, waiting to wake up so he could go tadpole hunting tomorrow morning as he had planned.

Only he wasn't in his own room, this wasn't his own bed, and if he closed his eyes and reopened them, he would still be staring overhead at the long, cracked bus ceiling. His father would still be whimpering in his sleep as his body struggled to repair itself.

If he hadn't caught Jerry, if Stan hadn't driven by just at that moment, would that have somehow changed the entire day? Made Dr Scully and Mr Mulder and the supersoldiers just disappear? As if they had never existed? Or maybe they would have just gone to another farm. Taken another family.

Hours into the bus journey he had given up studying the highway markings; he didn't know what road they were on, what city they had just passed through, or what town they were heading to. To keep him entertained Shu had produced several Japanese comics, but although Liam had taken them, his inability to read Japanese or follow the story through the drawings frustrated him and he gave up.

Worried there might be something wrong with his father (because neither Dr Scully nor his mother had returned from the back), he snuck through the curtain.

None of the adults looked happy at his entrance. His father was sitting on a bed looking mutinous. His mother was examining two pairs of pants from an open suitcase at her feet.

"These might do for you—oh, sweetie," she said, seeing him, "I don't want you walking about while the bus is moving."

Liam knew it wouldn't be wise to point out she moved about whenever she wanted.

"You've got to stop doing that," Dr Scully said to Mr van de Kamp when his hand reached down to the bandage on his thigh. There was something comical about his dad, sitting in his butchered jeans, digging at the white strip tied about his leg.

Mr van de Kamp groaned, baring his teeth.

"It's so damned scratchy," he said. "Hey, Liam. Come to watch your old man suffer?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing to worry about. Feels like Dr Scully put itching powder on my leg is all." He said it with a grin so Dr Scully wouldn't be offended.

It struck Liam that she wasn't doing much doctoring; she'd already stitched and bandaged his dad's leg, and since he was awake and talking, Liam guessed there wasn't much else for her to do. He wondered why the doctor didn't return to the front of the bus where everyone was keen to fight for her attention.

At a lull in the conversation he saw an opportunity to get it back to a topic he thought everyone could contribute to. But when he set the ball rolling by asking Dr Scully if she had ever seen an alien and what they looked like, he found himself being herded from the compartment by his mother.

"But Mom—"

"Your father needs to rest, Lee," she said.

She deposited him in his seat and stayed with him, playing car games (listing the states and then their capitals in alphabetical order, as well as Twenty Questions and Where Am I? among others). Shu asked to play, and Liam discovered he had an advantage over the scientist, whose geographical knowledge was limited. Toby and Alan joined in, and Liam's competitive streak was ignited when no one guessed Toby's twenty questions turn and Alan harrumphed and refused to play for ten minutes.

"That's not fair, Smith. From now on no abstract concepts." Alan gave Toby a dirty look.

"What do you mean it's not fair?" Toby said. "What's abstract about gravity? We'll throw you from plane at twelve thousand feet and see how abstract you think that is."

This did little to placate Alan, who argued the answers should be within the grasp of all the game's participants. Liam saw the surreptitious nod in his direction; were it not for Alan's kindness (even if his sandwiches oozed escaping mayo) Liam might have decided to permanently dislike the man. On the other hand, his respect for Toby was growing exponentially.

"What? You mean Liam? Kid was on the right track. He nearly had it when he asked if it was as old as the universe."

Alan pulled on steel-toed boots and stomped up the aisle.

"Don't worry about him." Toby waved off the theatrics. "He's just feeling sore because he should have been able to work it out."

When Alan rejoined them, he came cradling bags of potato chips in his arms, and all was forgiven.

Later, as the sun dipped behind a layer of cloud, Liam and his mother checked on Mr van de Kamp, who was awake but not in a talkative mood. After a quick meal, Liam was sent back to his seat. He had thought the games would be over. And they were—until the professor turned on a radio and several of Liam's new companions started singing along.

It was a comforting end to what had been the most eventful day of his life, but while the university crew seemed happy (even when discussing "the war"), Liam could not help remembering the reason why they were on the bus.

As long as he could see where they were going, he had enjoyed the illusion of safety; as soon as the dark started to close in on them, his sense of being exposed grew. Danger could come at them from any angle. His discomfort lessened only a little when the professor advised them to put out most of the bus's reading lights.

This was met with some mock whining from Toby, who claimed he had just got up to an interesting part in his textbook.

Liam couldn't understand the scientists' lack of fear.

"Why aren't you scared of the supersoldiers?"

The three men had looked at each other.

"Dr Scully told us about this morning," Toby said. "When your mom made her call she alerted the military. They were in the right area because they already knew approximately where Dr Scully was."

"How?"

"We can't be entirely certain, Liam," Alan said. "It doesn't matter. The point is those soldiers aren't looking for us, and they don't know Dr Scully is getting some outside help. We don't think they know where she is now, so we think you're pretty safe on this bus."

"But what if—"

"They find us somehow?"

Liam nodded.

"We're doing everything we can to make sure that doesn't happen." Alan was full of confidence. "Maybe you haven't noticed, but everyone on this bus has been keeping watch, and we've got some outside help too. There's nothing over the next hill that the Prof doesn't already know about. If something looks suspicious, he'll know."

With the hum of the engine in his ears and the sickly odor of diesel turning his stomach, Liam's eyelids had grown heavy. When he came to with a jerk, he was slumped against the windowsill and had a crick in his neck.

"What's happening, Mom?"

Mrs van de Kamp was leaning over him with a rug. "I think we just got a message telling us where to go."

She was right. Bracing himself against an overhead handrail, Alan stood to make his announcement.

"Good news first, people. We've been given a destination. Prof's going to take us to the outskirts of a place called Old Hachita in New Mexico."

No one reacted to the name.

"Bad news is while the bus'll be stopping, we won't. We'll rendezvous with four guides who'll be taking us to the camp. It'll be a five-hour walk in. There's a fair load of equipment to transport, but Dr Scully says Harry van de Kamp will need assistance, so we're going to have to think carefully about what comes with us."

He let the news sink in, then he grinned. "Now might be a good time to remind the person who packed the autoclave—you want it, you carry it."

Liam had tried to keep his eyes open, but as Alan went on outlining logistical details, he had lost the battle to stay awake. He had dim memories of resisting when arms picked him up and zipped him into the sleeping bag.

He had been wondering about Old Hachita as he drifted off to sleep. That was the last thing he remembered.

His dad rolled over, muttering in his sleep. If the bus had stopped, where was everyone else?

Alan had said they would have to carry their own supplies. They wouldn't just leave Liam and his dad behind, wouldn't they? Did that explain the silence in the bus? Was that why he had come to with a jolt?

"Dad?" he whispered.

All he heard was short, raspy breaths.

"Dad?!"

He got nothing.

A sudden snap made him seize up.

"It'll be daylight soon. The guides can't be too far away." It was the doctor, sounding serious (as usual) but untroubled.

Liam was worrying for nothing. A weight lifted from his chest. Alan, Toby and the others must be outside in the dark unloading the bus.

How long was I asleep?

"When will it be safe for Harry to move?"

"We'll work that out when the guides get here, Marie."

"Maybe we should wait and let the others go on?"

This seemed to anger the doctor.

"I didn't bring you this far to abandon you—I'm not leaving anyone behind," she said. "We will work something out."

"You're worried about him, aren't you?"

That caught the doctor off guard. 

"I'm sorry?"

"No, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't bring it up. Naturally you'd be worried about him—it just seems, well, you've scarcely mentioned him since yesterday morning. You've been partners for how long? I don't believe you're really as calm as you appear."

The doctor choked as if she had swallowed a mouthful of dirt.

Way to go, Mom.

"I don't see any rings. You never married?" His mother had a way of kindly cutting to the heart of a matter.

There was a long pause. "No, we're not—we just—it just wasn't as important as ... other things."

"I'm sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable with these questions."

This was met with a genuine laugh. "You don't sound very sorry."

Liam's mother unbundled some of her exasperation with a snort.

"I'm talking to a wanted felon, on the run from God knows what kind of science fiction horror, and feeling surprisingly mellow about the experience. Yesterday the most important task I had planned for the day was putting the finishing touches on a quilt in time for my next sewing circle date. Anyone with an ounce of compassion would understand if I said I wasn't sure about anything—but I'm still deadly certain of some things."

When the doctor spoke, she was wary. "I never wanted to involve you or your family like this, Marie. If there had been any other way ..."

From her volume, she had stopped just under the window.

"Dr Scully—Dana, what's going to happen when we reach this camp?"

By changing the topic, Liam thought she was trying to tell the doctor that her unspoken apology was accepted.

"I don't know."

"I look at the people on this bus and I see a group of intelligent, idealistic, young men caught in a fervor. I don't see an army. I see boys not that much older than my son who think they're off to some war games summer camp. It's hard to take them seriously—certainly not as soldiers."

"This will be no ordinary battle, Marie. It could well and truly be won in a lab somewhere," Dr Scully said.

His mother pushed on. "I realize I know very little about things you all seem to take for granted, but experience has to count for something. You keep telling me people don't survive encounters with supersoldiers, but thanks to you I survived. My husband survived. My son survived.

"For all their knowledge, is it strange for me to feel as though I'm—I don't know—more connected to this than them?" She paused, perhaps to summon her thoughts. "I don't mean to be dramatic. I can't articulate how I feel. Will there be other people like us? Men and women protecting themselves from supersoldiers—from becoming supersoldiers? Families seeking safety?"

"I don't know what to expect, Marie."

"I feel so on edge. Part of me still thinks coming with you was insane. Another part—the selfish part—says I'm glad I'm not alone in this mess. Maybe that's why I wondered about your partner. At least I have someone. What about your family, Dana? Where are they? If you know these terrible things are happening in the world, surely you would protect them the way you've protected us?"

It took a beat for the doctor to reply. "My family is fine. They'll be fine."

Was she trying to convince herself? Liam wished his mother would get more from her. Who was her family? Did she have brothers and sisters? Was Mr Mulder in her family? He hadn't given it much thought but he supposed Mr Mulder was her boyfriend.

At the mention of his own name, his ears pricked again.

"Liam—" the doctor said as though she was grasping for a way to redirect their conversation. "That's an Irish name, isn't it?"

When she wanted to, the doctor made conversation hard. When they'd first set out, she hadn't spoken for hours, leaving all the talking to Mr Mulder. It was almost a shock to hear her broach a topic without prompting.

"I believe so," his mother said. "Not that either Harry or I have any Irish blood that we know of. But then, Liam's name wasn't really my choice ..."

"No?"

Mrs van de Kamp chuckled. "No, no, it was all Liam's doing."

Liam straightened. He never tired of hearing this story.

"Maybe I should explain, Dr Scully." They weren't prickly about discussing his adoption, but it wasn't something they often talked about with strangers.

Unlike the doctor, who deflected prying questions by ignoring them, his mother didn't back away from the sensitive subject.

"We adopted Liam. He was eight months old when they put him in my arms for the first time—he was eight months old and he was gorgeous."

Liam waited to hear what the doctor would say; when she didn't reply he worried they had walked away. Moments later his mother went on. "His records were sealed and will be until he's eighteen and even then, under DC law, there may be limits to what he can ever learn—if he wants to find out.

"But, although we know very little about the first eight months of his life, we were told his name was William. We had discussed renaming him—giving him a fresh start—but once he set his beautiful, solemn eyes on us, we couldn't imagine it. Only, we started to doubt the story the adoption agency gave us—oh—"

Did she pause in response to some expression Dr Scully gave?

"There were no problems with the legalities, and the agency had an outstanding reputation—but when we tried talking to him, he never reacted.

"We tried everything: William, Will, Willy, Billy—he'd just look at us with these big, gorgeous baby eyes. He was so comical. You could almost read his mind—he was saying, 'Nearly ... you've nearly got it right.' Finally, despairing, I remember looking at him and saying, "Liam? What about Liam?" It was such a relief! He turned his head like he was saying, 'Yes? Well?'"

She breathed in deeply. "It's been his name ever since. I'm sorry, Dr Scully. I must be boring you with this."

"Not at all. Do you know anything about his birth parents? Anything that explains why he liked Liam?"

"Very little," his mother replied. "Initially, I had some concerns. What had happened to him in those first eight months? And why would someone just give up their baby like that? The adoption agency said his birth mother was a young, single, working woman—that conjures all sorts of images. And as for his biological father ... I presume he's dead."

Liam felt a small tingle of shock. They had never discussed it—Liam had never put it into words—but he had always had a feeling his biological father was dead. Interesting that his mother thought the same thing.

"Did the agency tell you why he was given up?" Dr Scully's voice had dropped so low, Liam struggled to hear her.

"His mother wanted to give him a better life—a life she couldn't provide," his mother said. "I like to think we've given him that life. There's not a day goes by I don't thank the Lord for that opportunity. Do you know, Dr Scully"—his mother sounded wistful—"I've heard a child never forgets the sound of his mother's voice. You're a pediatrician, aren't you? Is there any truth to that, do you think?"

Liam never heard Dr Scully's reply.

A fire had exploded in his thigh. Like his sleeping bag was suddenly flooded with thousands of furious, fiery ants.

He yelped as he jumped up and patted his leg. A whimper sounded from the other bed.

Dad! Sleeping bag and imaginary ants forgotten, Liam spun around.

His father's breathing was labored and short. Heat radiated off his skin. Liam put a hand on his father's forehead. It sizzled with slick, sticky sweat.

At last he understood what had woken him.

"Mom! Dr Scully!" Liam fell to his knees hurtling off the bus. Hands emerged from the darkness to help him.

"Liam, what is it?" His mother pulled him up.

"It's Dad. He's really sick."

Dr Scully was already flying up the steps. A light flicked on and seconds later he heard her swear.

"He's running a fever. Probably infection."

Popping open a first aid kit, she grabbed scissors and a thermometer, then she hacked at the bandage around his leg. Feathery red lines streaked from the wound.

Mrs van de Kamp squeezed Liam's hand. "You can treat him, right?"

Dr Scully leaned over to open a cupboard door. "I'll do everything I can—" She was cut short when one of the scientists called to her.

"Dr Scully, we've got a problem—"

"Not now—I've got bigger things to worry about."

Cooking utensils and foodstuffs mounted around her. She was on her knees, ransacking the bus's small kitchenette, pulling items out or pushing them aside.

"I'm sorry." Alan poked his head up the stairwell. "I think you need to hear this. The guides have arrived. They've got some disturbing news."

The doctor paused, her hand on a bag of sugar. Liam watched her compose herself.

"What?"

Alan moved toward them. "Dr Scully, they say it's not safe here. They say we have to move out as soon as possible. They don't even want to wait for daylight."

Alan's gaze fell on Mr van de Kamp. Liam's dad hadn't woken. He was muttering and his skin burned red. For the first time Liam saw a sensible emotion flash over the student's face: fear.

"We were never gonna just leave the bus here," he said. "The Prof was planning on taking it back—it's not like the UDub won't notice is missing. Shu's ripped off the husky sticker, so it won't be as easy to identify. What if you and Harry stay on the bus, get treatment and try again when he's well enough to walk?"

"Can we do that?" Liam's mother sounded hopeful.

"You get Harry to a clinic and we'll take Liam and Marie to the camp." Alan looked to Dr Scully for an answer.

The proposal hit Liam's mother. "If Harry's not going, I won't go."

The doctor considered Alan's suggestion, then shook her head.

"I can't take that risk," she said to him. "We've had too many close calls as far as it is."

"But—"

"The longer it takes us to get to that camp, the harder it becomes. If they know we're in this area, they could have every main route under surveillance. I can't even risk going to the smallest medical center."

"But moving Harry—"

"This changes nothing. We knew we'd need to stretcher him. We all move out. Together. And the sooner we get going, the better it'll be for everyone."

Still kneeling, she was tiny, but her face was marble. Liam knew no one would argue with her.


	11. Chapter 11

August 11, 2011  
Old Hachita  
New Mexico

Liam gritted his teeth; his ankle was throbbing but he forced himself to keep walking.

_The pain is all in my head._

He marshaled his mental defenses, visualizing his own army of medic molecules marching their way down his leg.

An arm's length away, his father whimpered; Liam fought an instinct to reach out.

Walking had never been so difficult. He had never needed to concentrate so hard on staying upright.

He had learned, these last two days, how deceptive distance could be. That things were not always as they seemed. Sure, the earth looked flat—until he tried to walk on it. Then the rocks slid under his feet and spiky scrubs poked at his legs.

_At least I can see now._

The sky was growing lighter; the uneven ground was starting to cast shadows.

The moon had set before dawn more than an hour ago; the only way to know where he was putting his feet had been with a pocket flashlight Shu had given him. Its feeble stream of light was better than nothing.

Shu had taken pity on Liam when he tripped half a mile back.

Squeezing tears from his eyes as he first put weight on his foot, Liam didn't see any point mentioning the pain. They _had_ to get his dad to safety. Liam could still walk, and they were already loaded down, so there wasn't much anyone could do for him. When he pushed himself up without making a sound or a fuss, he almost heard the collective sigh of relief. Even so, Shu, who was walking behind him, must have had an inkling of the problem. Wordlessly, he had slipped the flashlight into Liam's hand.

It made Liam's steps more steady; it didn't tell him much about where he was.

Back at the bus, the cookie-round moon had still been up. In a cloudless sky, it had lit Old Hachita's flat landscape.

There had been enough light for the scientists to sort and repack their belongings. While they arranged themselves, Dr Scully had started treating Liam's dad, using sugar, of all things. She was being helped by their guide, who had turned up with three others.

This man was different. He had a long, pencil-thin moustache and long braided hair, but it wasn't his hair that set him apart from everyone else: Dr Scully knew this man.

_Where did they meet? When?_

Dr Scully had recognized him instantly when he had stepped on the bus. She called him Eric, her pleasure at seeing him as great as her surprise. He had returned her greeting and looked down at Liam's dad.

"You shot him. I'm not surprised." His voice was a flat line. "Tell me what you want me to do."

That was when Liam's mom had sent Liam outside.

"Dr Scully's doing everything she can for Dad, Liam. Right now she needs space to work in." Her soft hands propelled him off the bus.

While he waited, he wandered away from the bus, scuffing his feet in the soil and trying to focus on trivial things to stop him worrying.

Old Hachita wasn't much more than a few huts dotted between mounds of sagebrush and cacti. He forced himself to memorize the dimensions of one little ghost house, hoping the mental activity would distract him. An inside-out world beckoned from within the hut, tempting him to explore. A beam had fallen, blocking the door frame, but part of a wall had crumbled away, teasing Liam with the hut's magic interior. A tree grew inside. A branch, poking through a window frame, glowed; the leaves on its tips hung like hundreds of limp handkerchiefs.

"Better not let Dr Scully catch you going too far."

Toby steered him back to the bus where everyone was ready to go. Shu and Alan were hitching large packs onto their backs. Liam's dad had been settled on a stretcher. Only the rise and fall of the blankets over his chest said he was still breathing.

The doctor hadn't finished with the sugar. After lining the bottom of a rucksack with ice packs, she stowed the sugar packet on top. Then, as if she was strangling it, she tightened the bag's neck cord.

Liam shivered. She was going to carry the finger on her back—that was the only reason he could think of for the ice packs. He wasn't squeamish, but the thought of the finger so close to live flesh was creepy.

Eric waited for her to stand. When he had everyone's attention, he addressed them.

"We face a six-hour walk. It's flat at first, but the ground is deceptive, so take it slow. Then we hit the hills—nothing we shouldn't be able to handle, but watch your footing. We're not following a marked trail. There are only six flashlights between us. When the moon sets we may have to stop until dawn breaks—but I'd prefer not to."

He didn't elaborate and nobody asked him to.

"The bus is leaving as soon as we set off, so this is your last chance to check your belongings. It's important you leave nothing to say you've been here."

One of his companions—a stringy, gaunt man rolling a stem of grass in his mouth—would follow them to destroy any tracks they made; another man would scout ahead.

He demonstrated how they were to take turns carrying the stretcher.

"The camp knows our progress will be slower than usual. They're sending help, but until then ..."

Eric hadn't been lying.

When they set off the earth was flat and the scientists had been cracking jokes, but conversation flagged as the weight of the stretcher grew with each step. After setting out at a gallop, Eric had soon reined them in.

"It's not how fast you start the race, but how fast you finish it."

That had seemed like hours ago.

Liam placed himself as close as he could to the stretcher without getting in the way.

The morning light exposed the pallor in Liam's dad's face. Liam watched as his father started to thrash and shuck away the blankets packed around him. Liam wished he could do more—he just didn't know what.

Despite their need to keep moving, Mr van de Kamp's carriers were relieved when the doctor made them stop for her to re-organize her patient.

No one was complaining, but the scientists hadn't planned on stretchering a large man a long distance through the desert. With backpacks loaded as heavily as they dared, they were taking turns, six at a time, to carry Liam's dad.

Liam wondered what equipment earmarked for their so-called secret headquarters they had to leave behind. He had taken it on himself to carry water bottles and food for the group. His shoulders ached but not as much as his foot.

They didn't break long—just time enough for the adults to rub and flex their hands while Dr Scully checked Mr van de Kamp's temperature and secured him again. Track pants his mother had found for him provided Liam some cover as he surreptitiously massaged his ankle. He could still poke a finger down the side of his sneaker, so he presumed the joint wasn't too swollen. His medic molecules must be winning. If only he could use them to help his father.

There was little talk when they set off again. They were closer to the hills, but Eric was taking them south, parallel with the range. The sky was much brighter and the ground was starting to heat up. When he could stand it no longer, he stopped, pulled off the baggy pants and stuffed them into a pack he had been given. When he looked up, two pairs of eyes gazed down on him; neither woman said anything, but Dr Scully pulled a hat from thin air, and his mother told him not to take it off.

The landscape gave little clue to their destination and their guide said little—even when Dr Scully probed. "Where exactly are we going, Eric? Not ruins, surely?"

That sounded exciting. Liam had seen pictures of pueblos in school books.

Only when they turned into the hills and their path began to rise, did Eric open up to the doctor. "No, not ruins, Agent Scully. An old military installation."

Dr Scully stopped. "What?"

A chill passed through Liam.

"No—no. A _decommissioned_ military installation." Liam saw the man's eyebrows draw together in consternation.

"None of us is going any further until you explain."

The stretcher bearers lowered Liam's dad.

"It used to be an Air Force base," Eric said. "But it hasn't been used for more than fifty years, Agent Scully, I swear. It's the perfect place. Parts were demolished or dismantled, but the underground bunkers remain, as well as barracks and hangars. A private developer bought it about fifteen years ago but died before he could do anything. It's been on the market since then."

It struck Liam that Eric was upset because he had disappointed the doctor. Feeling had risen in his voice for the first time. The doctor made no effort to put him at ease. Her fists were clenching at her sides.

"Why was it decommissioned?" It sounded like she was crushing the word in her mouth.

"That's the interesting part—and part of why it's so perfect. At its biggest, the base never had more than 900 personnel—including non-military personnel and families. But it did have more engineers than usual."

"So?"

Her iciness made Liam feel sorry for Eric.

But the man didn't need sympathy. His voice hinted at reserves of steeliness Liam hadn't expected. He recovered his unreadable expression again.

"The Air Force used it to test experimental aircraft—the base's remote location made it an ideal place to conduct experiments away from watchful eyes. But for some reason they stopped using it. They didn't give it an essential runway upgrade in 1961. We think its closure had something to do with the merchandise deal."

Liam heard her breath sharply.

"There's something interesting about the base, Dr Scully. Something I know you're going to appreciate. The base is built over a bed of iron sand— _that_ kind of iron sand."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive." Dr Scully would brook none of his satisfaction.

"If the military knew that—what, fifty years ago?—they won't have forgotten. And why on earth would they give the land up? This base is the last place on earth we should be heading to. There'll be _some_ sort of surveillance ... how can we be safe there?"

"Actually, Agent Scully, it's the perfect place to hide. Sure, the Air Force knows it's there—in fact, that's probably why they have supersoldiers patrol in the area—but I bet they don't think we'd move in. For one thing, they've managed to keep sensitive geological data about the area suppressed for half a century. As far as they know, no one else is aware of the iron sands. As for them watching the place—maybe they are—but they also have to keep their distance, if you catch my drift. So long as they don't know we're there, they're not going to do anymore than—"

"This is insanity."

"—patrol," Eric continued. "And we are being _very_ careful not to let them know we're there. That's why we're not using the road that passes the base. And there's our secret weapons."

Dr Scully shook her head. "Secret weapons?"

Once more Eric's face morphed into emotion, taking years off his face. Liam wondered how old the man was.

"But you must know—Mulder's been arranging it." He stopped in confusion. "The insider. The government insider Mulder's been accessing classified information from. It's how we found out about the base ..."

Liam heard someone whistle.

"Makes sense," Toby said under his breath.

The doctor was dumbfounded. "How do you know this isn't a trap? Jesus."

Liam's mother must have been as mesmerized by the struggle as everyone else—she didn't tell Liam to cover his ears.

"Whatever happened to trust no one?"

Eric's nostrils flared as he regarded the doctor. "You know the problem with that mantra of Agent Mulder's?"

Whatever expression she gave him only fueled his annoyance.

"You only win when you're the last one standing. Everyone else—friends, family, enemies—has been wiped from the board. To win the war sometimes you've got to be prepared to put something at stake—lay it all on the line—risk the queen to protect the king. Win the war. I'd rather go down fighting with my family than alone like a beaten dog."

The doctor scoffed. "I never took you for much of a chess player, Eric."

"My teacher's a real master."

Her head snapped back. Some of the heat seemed to drain away from her. For a moment Liam thought the bomb had been defused, but the doctor wasn't finished with Eric.

"You said weapons."

"Yes."

Her silence was his cue to continue. He refused.

It was a relief when Alan stepped in to break the stalemate. "Dr Scully?"

Until then the scientists had stayed out of the conversation. Alan cleared his throat. "If not here, then where?"

It was a good question. Was there really nowhere else in the country for them to turn to? In the world? That didn't seem right. The world was huge—there had to be hundreds of places they could use to hide out in. But more immediately, what about his father? They needed to get to the camp so Dr Scully could treat him properly—she had said so.

Sweat dribbled down Shu's face; Toby was drinking deeply from a water bottle. Only Eric and the other guides stood to attention.

The doctor shook her head. "I don't like this."

"I wouldn't take you there if I thought it was a trap."

"You could have said exactly the same thing to Mulder nearly twenty years ago."

Eric winced. "That was not fair."

"No, it wasn't, but I'm not going to apologize." She spoke from that faraway place she sometimes went to. "I have nothing left, Eric. I put everything on the line, as you so euphemistically put it, a decade ago."

He reached out, taking her hand.

"Please," he said. "Trust me."

Dr Scully sighed. "Against my better instincts."

She stooped to take up one corner of the stretcher. The others scrambled up. Liam could almost hear the weight settle on their backs as they jiggled their packs to get comfortable; some of them were carrying metal containers or instruments.

"Who knows?" the doctor said. "Maybe if we could fire laser beams the way you toss out clichés, we'd have a chance—but you've got a long way to go if you plan to match your grandfather's talent for riddling."

Eric wasn't ready to let the doctor have the last word.

"You were much nicer when I was a kid. I even kind of _liked_ you back then in spite of you being a fed."

Dr Scully chuckled, alleviating some of the tension. Liam reclaimed his place beside the stretcher. Now that he could see properly, he was able to keep a hand on it, offering whatever help he could.

Resigned to the situation, Dr Scully pressed Eric for details on the camp as they fell into a rhythm. Listening to them talk took Liam's mind off the heat and his father.

"Eric, just how many people are coming to the base?"

"We've planned for between eighty and a hundred and twenty people for the first month—we're up to thirty-seven. We'll expand as we can. Our first priority is to get the labs running. This isn't the only base being set up, Dr Scully, but it is the only one in the US so far."

"What about utilities? Water? Power? Sanitation? You can't plan to hide all these people in the desert?"

"Artesian wells pump fresh water into the camp. Power's been trickier, but we managed to get ourselves online just last week."

"You don't just hook into a power grid."

"You can when you have one of the original air base engineers helping you out."

"Is this engineer your government insider?" she asked.

"No."

Once he got started on the subject, Eric had plenty to say about the base. There were scientists—and laboratories—and medical rooms for Dr Scully. Some of it would be underground, and you could only move about above ground at certain times of the day or night which kept changing, so everything had to be timed. Liam wouldn't be the only kid. He'd have his own room, next to his parents, but food was cooked in a communal kitchen.

Liam had no idea how long they had been walking when Eric guided them through a narrow chasm that curved into a wide space behind the rock face. It opened on a secret rock garden. The area was large and marked with naturally-formed, broad stone pillars and steep walls on all sides. Eric directed them behind a massive boulder, which provided some shade. They would rest for half an hour.

"They can't see us here," he told Dr Scully. "We're guarding the entrance, but if anyone does get in, the rocks will provide protection."

She nodded, shrugging off her bag and untying it.

"Help me, Eric," she said. "I need to check Harry."

They stripped away the layers covering Liam's dad. When Mr van de Kamp's hand was freed, Liam reached out for it, wishing he could command the cells in his father's body the way he thought he did to himself and his ankle.

"Dad?"

His father groaned.

_Why do I feel as if I'm supposed to do something?_

Liam knew why, but there'd be little point trying to explain it. It was like that time the van had struck Sparky. His inability to help frustrated him. Just now his hands had gone out involuntarily as if they knew something he didn't.

He spread his fingers in front of him; it was bad enough there were things about himself he would never know—he didn't expect his body to know things that _he_ didn't.

Whatever his hands could or couldn't do, perhaps they weren't needed now, anyway. His father's breathing was slow and deep. If he was in pain, it didn't show on his face. Not like that morning.

His mother bathed his father's forehead while Dr Scully did something with the sugar again. When the doctor caught Liam looking at her, she frowned.

"Why don't you get something to eat?" Liam knew he was being dismissed. He ached too much too argue. He looked at his mother and she nodded.

After one last squeeze of his father's hand, Liam picked himself up and joined the others, who had moved around a corner to give Mr van de Kamp some privacy.

Liam didn't taste the apple as he munched on the fruit Alan gave him. His jaw worked mechanically, mashing each bite to the point where the pulp slid by itself down his throat.

Whatever Dr Scully was doing, it was taking time.

He was startled when one of Eric's guides—the one who had been following them—slipped around a boulder and beckoned another guide, thrusting his jaw and pointing with the twig in his mouth. Making no noise, the other guide rose, and the pair started pulling themselves up a small rocky wall, just feet away from the snoozing group.

No one else noticed or seemed to care, but Liam thought it was odd.

It was easy to work out where they had gone—there was only one way to go—up a fissure in the rock. Liam hauled himself up, biting back on the pain in his ankle. He nearly grabbed a foot as he pulled himself over the lip at the top. The guides lay on their stomachs, looking over the edge.

They turned when Liam's hand scrabbled in the loose rock for a handhold.

"Get down!"

Liam did as he was told, dropping next to the man who had barked at him. He crawled to the edge.

"It's too late to send you back now—look!"

Liam peered down. They were overlooking the gap Eric had guided them through; they were over the entrance of the hidden canyon. A flash of movement caught his eye and he gasped.

"A super—"

A jab in the ribs shut him up.

Down in the chasm, a shape in fatigues slipped through the gap. It stopped and scanned the area, its head moving from left to right. Liam gasped when he saw the blond ponytail. It was a woman. She held a small radio-like device and appeared to be running it over the rocks. She took two steps—in the direction Eric had led them—and repeated her motions.

"We have to warn—" Liam tried to turn but found himself pinned under the weight of an arm.

"I said shh. Look!"

Liam had to blink. At first he thought the sun was playing tricks on him because the supersoldier below was shimmering like a mirage. He couldn't tear his gaze away. The woman seemed unaware her body was rippling and wavering; she took one more step—and started pulsating so fast Liam's stomach knotted just looking at her. Then she vanished with a bang.

The ground under Liam vibrated. Shingle slid off the ledge. When he looked out again, a cloud of dust was shimmering. He searched for the woman. "Where'd she go?"

"Come on," the man with the grass in his mouth said, letting himself down the fissure.

Below, Eric was fending off the scientists. "Well?"

The twig in the guide's mouth bobbed as he spoke. "Just one. She won't be beaming onto the mothership tonight."

"You're sure?"

"As sure as I'll ever be."

"What's going on?" Dr Scully pushed forward to confront Eric.

"A supersoldier, Dr Scully. We don't know if it was deliberately tracking us, or if it was just curious."

"Where is it now?"

The guide next to Liam was smug. "Dust."

Dr Scully's glance fell on Liam. "You didn't let Liam watch, did you?"

The guide's jaw jutted out, but the twig drooped. "Couldn't stop him, could I?"

Dr Scully was on the point of saying something but stopped. She spun about and hurried back the way she had come. Eric ran to follow her.

"Dr Scully?"

"The finger," she yelled over her shoulder.

Liam tugged on the guide's t-shirt. "What happened to that woman?"

The guide waited until the retreating doctor disappeared before answering.

"Torn to bits. Sup'soldiers got iron in 'em. Iron in the rock acts like a magnet. Unzips the atoms in their cadavers, breaks down the weak forces and sucks the iron out of 'em. Not much left after that."

"Are you another scientist?"

"A scientist?" His laugh was hollow. "I look like a scientist to you? No, boy. I just like to know my enemy."

The man strode away with the other guide, ignoring the scientists' entreaties for more information. Liam watched him spit out the remains of the grass stalk. He stooped and plucked another without breaking stride.

"You saw what happened?" Alan asked, incredulous.

Liam found himself surrounded. He felt important as he tried to recall what he had seen.

"From now on, I'm sticking with you, kid," Toby said when he finished. "You get all the adventures!"

When they regrouped, ready to set out again, Eric brought them up to date.

"Bad news first—we're running behind time. Good news is we're confident there won't be any more supersoldier encounters today.

"We can be so sure"—he put his hands out to forestall concern—"because these guys usually sole patrol. If that _thing_ thought something strange was going on here, it would have radioed home base. We'd be surrounded by now. We're not."

Some of their party didn't look convinced but they had no option to argue. Eric told them to put their noses to the ground to make sure they left nothing behind.

As Dr Scully cast another look over her patient, Liam's mother bent beside her.

"Is the treatment working?"

"His breathing isn't as labored and his temperature is manageable. Looking at him now, Marie, I'd say he was in much better shape than he was this morning."

"Thank God."

"Yes." Liam didn't doubt Dr Scully meant it, but there was a catch in her voice as though she had been surprised to deliver good news.

When they fell into formation again and headed out through the chasm, Liam remembered the finger. He asked the doctor about it. His interest amused her.

"You're very curious, Liam." She didn't say it as though it was a bad thing. "The finger is still intact, if that's what you're asking."

"Shouldn't it have been sucked into rock like that other supersoldier? That's why you were worried, weren't you? You want to study it, don't you? If you put it under a microscope, will you let me look, too?"

She made a face, and he was afraid she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion like Mrs Linkletter had when he was in the third grade and she had called his parents because she was worried about his habit of poking at dead animals in the school yard.

"There's nothing wrong with studying things," he said. "I like studying things ..."

"I'm glad." Dr Scully sounded it, too. "You can help me in the lab any time you like—if that's okay with your mother."

Liam's mother was quick to give her approval. "That's a very kind offer, Dr Scully. What do you say, Liam?"

If his ankle was sore after that, he didn't notice. His father remained peaceful, and the ground under Liam's feet was as springy as a trampoline. His pack was lighter, his dad was getting better, and they were nearly at the end of this journey. The supersoldier's demise in the canyon marked a turning-point in spirits. They were on the home stretch.

Less than half an hour later they were met by the relief party from the camp. Chatter among the scientists grew. Young men off to summer camp—that was his mother's description. Liam could see what she meant.

When Eric announced they would be able to see the camp once they reached the top of the next ridge, everyone's pace quickened. Alan and Toby got there first; despite the packs on their backs, they broke into a whooping dance. Shu was puffing by the time he caught up to them. They stood in a circle, giving each other high-fives.

Liam felt a thrill when he overlooked the broad basin expanding to the south.

Although still far away, a series of uniform dots bisected by a long line marked the site of the former air force installation. The land surrounding the camp went on for miles. It was so flat Liam could make out the shape of the incredibly long fence that enclosed it.

Neither his mother nor the doctor let on her emotions. Only her pressed lips hinted at his mother's feelings, while Dr Scully seemed to be calculating the distance left to travel.

Eric led them down an easy slope to the basin's edge; the only thing in their way were the cactus plants. Almost before Liam could believe it, they had walked themselves to a high wire fence.

Hand on chin, Dr Scully studied the fence. "Is this it?"

Eric nodded. "There's another fence around the barracks, but this is the main perimeter."

There was no gate. Eric and another guide rolled up a section of wire. Mr van de Kamp's stretcher was dragged through first.

Liam hesitated before scrambling in the dirt on his hands and knees. He had given up everything—the farm, his animals, his friends, his life—to come here for reasons he didn't fully understand. Were they doing the right thing? There were answers waiting for them beyond the fence. He couldn't explain why he was so certain of that. Were they the answers he wanted? Would they really be safe here?

The fence and the openness of the camp wasn't reassuring, yet Eric seemed certain. The place was perfect, he had said.

Liam closed his eyes as he ducked under the wire; it was like jumping from the high diving board for the first time—there was only one way to go but he had no idea what to expect. When his eyes opened again, things looked just the same—even though he knew he'd traveled an unfathomable distance.

He held out a hand to help up his mother and then the doctor.

Half an hour later, the outline of the second fence became visible. The dots of the barracks got bigger. Dr Scully had hung back with Liam and his mother, but when excitement overflowed among the scientists and they called to her, she moved forward.

Liam strained to see what the fuss was. He tugged his mother's sleeve. "Look, Mom!"

They were close enough now to see a gate rolling aside and a mass of people flooding out from the inner compound. At the head of their welcome party was a tall, dark-haired man, with a familiar lanky stride.

Liam's mother gasped. "Is that ...?"

It was.

"Mulder, how did you get—"

Dr Scully didn't get to finish; she was wrapped in Mr Mulder's arms before she could get the words out.

"There are some people here who want to see you, Scully."

Startled, Dr Scully looked up. The crowd behind Mr Mulder parted and a gray-haired woman stepped from it.

A small cry escaped Dr Scully.

"Mom," she said, pulling the woman into an embrace.

Liam gawked. He couldn't help it. Powerful, bossy, Dr Scully had a mom? Of course, he knew she had to have one, but the word sounded strange coming from her mouth.

"Got enough hug left for an old colleague?" A bald, bespectacled man made his way up to them. Dr Scully put her hand to her mouth.

"Skinner?" She swung around, peering through the crowd. Around them, people were disentangling the scientists from their packs. "John and Monica, too?"

Liam and his mother kept out of the way, but Mr Mulder hadn't forgotten them.

"There's a one-legged friend waiting for Liam inside."

Liam knew immediately what he meant.

"Jerry!" He yelled without meaning to. "He's got one leg already? And I missed it?"

Mr Mulder put an arm about the doctor's waist to guide her toward the camp gate. "Come on," he said. "If you're fast enough you'll see him pop out another!"

"Mulder? Are John and Monica here too?"

"Scully, we can talk about that once we get you to safety."

She struggled to stop. "No. Tell me now."

The bald man—Mr Skinner—answered, keeping his voice low. "Dana, Agent Doggett hasn't been seen for three weeks."

She rounded on him. "What?"

Mr Skinner looked uncomfortable. "He was on leave—supposed to be back last Monday. He never clocked in."

Dr Scully stared at him, studying his face.

"There's more," she said. "What aren't you telling me? Where's Monica?"

Mr Skinner looked away, his eyes falling on Liam. They flickered before passing over him.

"I don't know. I'm sorry, Dana. She went to check up on him when he didn't turn up at work. No one's heard from her since. I'd have gone after her, but there was barely any time to get to your mother."

On the other side of the doctor, Mr Mulder shifted. His expression was grave, but he forced a smile.

Her forehead furrowed.

"Who heard from John last? He must have been in contact with Monica. She wouldn't just let him take off without checking on him regularly. They both know better!"

"Monica and John haven't worked as partners for several years," Mr Skinner said as though he was reminding her of something she should have known. "We all agreed minimal contact was the best course of action. Whatever's happened—and we will find out, Scully—we have another problem. What started this off—the break-in at the records department in DC—that can't have been coincidence."

He watched her digest the implication of his words.

"You think either Monica or John betrayed us?" She was shaking her head. "No. That's not possible."

"No one's pointing fingers—yet. But whoever rifled that records office knew exactly what they were looking for. We're certain whoever did it didn't know about this place. I hate saying this, but if it wasn't one of them, then who else?"

"No." Dr Scully shook her head again. "I'll buy into the hollow world theory before I accept that either one of them could have betrayed us. They must have gone into hiding—they could even be on their way here. We got directions—why shouldn't they?"

When Mr Skinner spoke again, it was to change tack. "There's something else you might be interested in knowing."

The doctor wasn't in the mood for guessing games, so he went on. "The X-Files have been re-opened."

Her eyebrows rose.

"It seems our alien friends are discovering a few paranormal mysteries of their own on earth."

"Excuse me?"

"I guess there's more to Earth than meets the extra-terrestrial eye. Sentient sea algae for one thing—that's got them really concerned. They've even taken over your old office."

She seemed unsure what to make of this remark. "Seriously?"

He nodded, his mouth twitching.

"Little green G-men?"

He nodded again, full on grinning.

Liam watched in amazement as the doctor fought to control herself. She had a pretty laugh. Even though he didn't understand the joke, he wished she laughed more often.

"That can't be good, surely?" Dr Scully wiped a hand across her eyes. "Our old case files—we removed what we could, but there are still sensitive files down there. Van Blundht, Darren Oswald—Mulder spent hours salvaging those files—better that they had burned than fall into the wrong hands."

Mr Skinner frowned. "Do you fear information in those files being used against you?"

"It can't have _not_ crossed your mind."

"Scully, I know it's worrying, but think for a moment. They've had nearly ten years to go through those files. This is something different."

"Scully's right to be concerned," Mr Mulder said. "But we can worry about it tomorrow. Until then I'm just going to enjoy the irony that is little green Feds."

Liam and his mother trailed the group into the base; it didn't seem to right to intrude on Dr Scully and her mother and her friends. Liam's mom gripped his hand as they stepped over the threshold. They were the last to pass through the large gateway. It slammed shut behind them.

Ahead, Liam's dad was carried into a plain, concrete building. Mr Mulder waited at the door for Liam and his mother. As quickly as they had appeared, the welcoming crowds were disappearing.

It seemed a sign that they should not tarry.

They were the last to make it to shelter, but when the skin on the back of his head tingled, Liam turned around.

A short, stooped figure was staring at him.

There was no welcome on this man's face and when Liam stared back, the man's scowl deepened. The man's leg dragged as he limped away to a lonely cabin on the edge of the compound.

Liam watched him jerk open a door and vanish into it.

At his mother's urging, Liam stepped inside.

**End of Part I**


	12. Chapter 12

Part 2

* * *

 

"Little lamb, who made thee?  
Dost thou know who made thee  
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed  
By the stream, and o'er the mead—"

Songs of Innocence and Experience,  
William Blake

 

* * *

September 25, 2011  
New Mexico

"Done!" Liam put the finishing touch—a perforated board—over the glass tank. "Now it's a real five-star frog castle."

He brushed sweat from his forehead. The weather hadn't cooled much since August; even underground the heat had a way of seeping in and stealing what limited comfort could be found in their cramped quarters.

Mulder peered into the tank. "Look at him go. He knows he's king."

The tadpole hadn't got the hang of his legs yet. All four had popped by now and his tail was shrinking—being reabsorbed into his body—but he still had some growing to do.

Jerry's new home was a wonder, with submerged tunnels to hide in and plenty of pond weed to nibble on. At one end was a large rock he would be able to pull himself onto when he got bigger. Watching the young frog zip about, Liam wished he could shrink himself and explore the aquarium.

Mulder grinned. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing.

Liam's former kidnapper was now firmly a friend. Their first night in the camp, he and his mother had only just settled into their quarters when Mulder had knocked on their door, presenting the tadpole in a cooking pot.

"He's had a rough time—he didn't like the flying—but he got here. You should probably thank Skinner. He looked after him when we hit turbulence."

Liam listened enraptured as Mulder explained how he beat them to the camp. He had escaped the supersoldiers, grabbed Jerry, raided a cellphone from a farmhouse and hidden until Mr Skinner had turned up with Mrs Scully and another woman. Then they headed north to a farm, where the owner had a large crop dusting plane. Mulder apologized for not having more to add to the tale.

A day later when Liam was outside the infirmary waiting to visit his father, Mulder had turned up with a dripping plastic bag.

"Look what I found," he had said, grinning.

A bag of pond scum had never been so well received.

Liam was grateful for the distraction; his dad was sick for a week, and although Dr Scully said he was going to be fine, his mother hadn't wanted Liam moping around.

The cooking pot was okay for a while but Liam knew the tadpole needed something bigger. He and Mulder had started scouting the camp for a more suitable home. It had been fun but frustrating exploring the base. Useful pickings were slim in the abandoned buildings.

It took them more than a month to find something appropriate—until this morning, in fact.

A rush of excitement equal to Christmas morning surged through Liam when a knock had sounded on their door and a familiar voice called: "Desert Express!"

Liam pulled back the door, and there stood Mulder cradling a large glass container: an aquarium.

Liam couldn't help himself. He squealed.

Arranging and filling the tank did not take long. After such a long wait, it was satisfying to complete the task.

Unable to tear himself away from the frog, Liam said, "You like your new home, don't you?"

The tadpole hadn't complained to him about his makeshift pot pond, but the joyful flutter of Jerry's stumpy tail told Liam he was happy. Liam gazed into the tank, imagining what the tadpole might be seeing.

His hands felt the tremor first. They vibrated on the table, which was chattering across the floor.

"Earthquake." Mulder's arms shot forward to steady the tank.

The ground roared. Glass chinked and a metal locker in the corner rattled. Water slopped against the tank walls. Liam counted to twenty before the room stopped heaving and his mother bustled in, hefting a load of laundry.

"Did you feel it, Mom?"

"I sure did," she said. "Everything still on the walls?"

Mulder looked around. "I don't think it was serious. Still, it might pay to check out the rest of the base. Catch you later, kid."

"Hey, Mulder," Liam called. "Gonna play ball after lunch?"

"If I can find the time, Liam. I promised Gibson I'd help him with a project today."

Liam didn't scowl but he wanted to. Gibson Praise wasn't his favorite person in the camp; they hadn't exactly hit it off.

Liam and his mother had been waiting for their first ever meal in their new home. They were at the end of the line in the mess hall. The experience—being rushed inside, having instructions rattled off, not being familiar with the place or how it worked—left him feeling intimidated. The scientists were quartered in a different section of the living area, so Liam had no idea where they were. His mother hadn't said anything but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

The mess hall tables were unoccupied; Liam could see people with trays and plates heading upstairs. He and his mother had copied those ahead of them by taking trays from stacks at the end of a counter.

Liam thought they were the last ones to make it to the communal dinner until an unpleasant voice had accosted him from behind.

"So _you're_ the kid?"

Liam shrank back when he found a misshapen man leaning into his space. The man's shoulders were broad and hunched, and his arms hung limply at his sides. Thick eyebrows thrust forward over thick rimmed glasses. Liam wondered if the man had any idea how much he resembled a giant, angry chimpanzee.

The man's eyes narrowed and he snarled. "You're just like all the rest of them." He snatched up a tray and stalked off.

His mother watched him go. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know," Liam had said.

By the time they met again, Liam knew who he was: Gibson Praise—the most hated man in camp. Liam's new friends were quick to fill him in on the camp hierarchy. Gibson was _someone;_ but just what kind of _someone_ was a matter of speculation. One thing was certain: none of the children liked him because he was mean.

Gibson stayed apart from everyone: adults _and_ children. He didn't invite conversation, but whenever the adults held a camp meeting, he always turned up—and though he didn't speak much, when he did, the others listened. Whether they liked what he had to say was another matter.

Mulder didn't hate Gibson. They had a history; what that history could be was part of endless speculation among Liam's new friends.

Some said he was an abductee who'd had some kind of failed experiments performed on him; others said the government had performed the experiments; one or two said he'd been abandoned as a baby and was raised by coyotes in the desert. Liam had his doubts, but that was his favorite theory.

"Liam? Are you listening?"

His mother snapped him from his thoughts, bringing him back to the little gray room.

Mrs van de Kamp set the basket down and headed to the locker, extracting a pair of hiking boots.

"Madeleine Fawbert's come down with that fever," she said over her shoulder as she bent to unlace the boots. "They've asked me to help with the supply run today."

Liam's head whipped round. The supply run? He had heard about that. The camp had grown to about ninety people now; everyone needed feeding, but the supply run had to be carefully planned. It took more than a day because everything had to be walked in.

"Your dad's out doing perimeter duty. That means you'll be on your own until this evening, sweetheart."

The infection in Liam's dad's leg took a week to clear, leaving him with a limp and two wicked scars. He had looked for any excuse to exercise. Dr Scully's lips had pressed together when he told her he had signed up for the duty—a twelve-hour shift monitoring the outer eight-mile long perimeter—but she hadn't stopped him. His limp lessened and now he was going out every second or third day. "Makes me feel useful," he would say.

Liam's mother knotted her hair back in a scarf. "I've asked Mrs Scully to keep an eye on you today. She's going to take you to church. You're fine with that, aren't you?"

"Can't I come with you?"

She gave him a look—one he had no trouble interpreting.

He ignored it. "Please?"

"Liam ..."

In some ways life was no different here than it was at home—except, even with all the space above ground, he felt confined. The novelty of living underground had lasted a day. He had fewer chores to do, but he didn't have as much freedom either. He and the other children in the camp were allowed to play topside most days, but occasionally everyone was ordered to stay below.

It was one of the first lessons everyone learned when they arrived.

The van de Kamps and the scientists had been shepherded into a hall with long wooden chairs. A stern faced man introduced to them as Major John Drummond had explained the rules. Most of them were common sense, but if there was one thing everyone took notice of, it was the instruction to obey the no-go times. It was no secret why: "There are ten thousand satellites orbiting earth," the Major had said. "Most of them are innocuous. But some are trackers. Any number of those satellites could be used to find us. Any one of those satellites could record information which could give away our location. One photograph is enough to destroy us."

The Major went on to explain that the satellites themselves could be tracked. It turned out to be not as bad as Liam had first imagined. Although the satellites moved quickly, the campers always knew where they were and when they were coming. It wasn't like the satellites could sneak up on them unaware.

Drone planes were another concern. Yet, once again, the campers were told they had a powerful source in a position to watch and warn them.

Despite the satellites' menace and the ferocious desert heat, the campers seemed determined to do as much of their living in the sunshine as possible. While all meals were served in the subterranean mess hall, many of the campers headed upstairs to make use of the natural light.

The topside buildings lined the old runway. Dinner was served at dusk when the temperature fell a fraction. Plastic picnic tables would appear like magic; Liam and the other children (and some of the scientists) would sit cross-legged on the runway tarmac, balancing their plates on their knees. Once the meal was over, the tables would be whisked away; nothing could be left out.

"No sign of human activity," Major Drummond had said. "Nothing that hasn't been there for twenty years already. Nothing that shouldn't be there."

At first Liam had wondered if it would be possible to hide so many people in the desert, but it didn't take him long to realize how committed the group was to protecting itself.

Vehicles were always parked inside an old hangar. The entire time he'd been there Liam hadn't seen any being used, but they made everyone feel safer. Most of the buildings were empty and made useful storage facilities.

The underground complex had several levels, which included old barracks and command offices, and a kitchen and mess hall. The campers had converted space to a meeting hall, an infirmary and laboratories.

"Liam? Are you listening?" His mother's voice brought him back to his own underground cell again. "Since your father is on perimeter duty, Mrs Scully is going to look after you this morning."

"Okay." He didn't need anyone to babysit him, but he didn't mind. Not really. His mother got on with Dr Scully's mom—they spent a lot of time together. Liam wondered if it was because they weren't scientists or doctors or soldiers. Mrs Scully was always very nice to Liam, and sometimes she told him stories about Dr Scully when she was a little girl.

She didn't talk much about her grandchildren although she did tell him she had two grandsons and two granddaughters.

Mr de Rosier's comment about Dr Scully having a daughter popped into his head one day, and he nearly asked Mrs Scully about it, except he wondered if that would be bad manners and stopped himself just before he opened his mouth.

Thinking about Mr de Rosier sent an unpleasant shiver through him; their one-time savior hadn't been heard from or seen since the day he'd stepped from the bus, jaunty and whistling, outside Atlantic City.

He wasn't the only one. Dr Scully didn't say much about it (actually, she didn't say anything—not when Liam was in earshot, anyway), but she still didn't know where her FBI friends were. Small pockets of newcomers arrived about twice a week; Dr Scully no longer rushed to the front of the crowd whenever they were welcomed into the camp.

"Are you sure I can't come?" It was worth one last attempt. "I can carry stuff for you ..."

His mom didn't get angry with him; instead, she used her 'I understand' tone of voice to mollify him as she explained why that was not such a great idea. He experienced a twinge of irritation and struggled to conceal it for her sake. He could tell she was excited as she hurried about their quarters organizing herself for the supply run. It was not going to be an easy task, but this was the happiest he'd seen her since his dad had walked out of the infirmary.

As she prepared, Liam dressed for church, and then they were closing the door behind them, and slipping out into the corridor.

Liam didn't have another opportunity to beg his mother to take him. Mrs Scully's quarters were at the other end of the long hall and she was waiting for them.

With a quick kiss on his cheek, orders to be on his best behavior, and a short conversation with Mrs Scully, Mrs van de Kamp took her leave.

"Ready, Liam?"

Mrs Scully was about to pull the door behind her when she tutted to herself and slipped back inside. Liam glimpsed in as she picked up a book from her bedside table. Her room was smaller than the three rooms he and his parents occupied: just a single space with a bunk set, small cupboard and a sitting chair. Like all the other underground quarters there were no windows. She hadn't put up any pictures but she must have scrubbed the walls because the cinder blocks seemed too glaring white to look at. She didn't have much in the way of decoration, but there were several photos in frames and a black photo album on a small bedside table. And a crucifix.

Mrs Scully was Catholic, which meant she liked to go to church—another thing she had in common with his mother.

Church services had started up not long after the van de Kamps arrived.

Liam had been confused when Major Drummond, the old man who had shown them around the camp, started the services. He thought it was odd for a soldier to be organizing church. When he asked his mother about it, he was taught an another new word—ecumenical—and learned about the Salvation Army.

As they headed upstairs, a door slammed and footsteps echoed along the corridor. The doctor flashed a smile at Liam when she caught up with them.

"Room for one more?"

She slipped in beside her mother. Together they passed through heavy doors leading to the first floor and then on into dazzling sunlight.

Squinting, Liam could make out several large sunshades rigged up on the old runway. People were carrying long wooden chairs from a nearby hangar.

Chapel, service, church, mass, temple, prayers: everyone had a different name for it; it wasn't like regular church. For one thing, it wasn't a proper church. Not everyone believed the same thing, his mother explained.

"Can we do that?" Somehow the notion that Baptists and Catholics and Methodists and Jehovah's Witnesses and Muslims and Mormons could mix in church left him bemused. Then there was Shu, who said he was Buddhist _and_ had a Shinto shrine in his home in Japan.

Unconvinced, Liam had asked some of his new friends; he could still feel residual heat in his cheeks from the moment Ellie Paskowitz laughed at him.

Sure, they could mingle, she said. It happened all the time; didn't he know anything?

Ellie was ten—like him—but the way she effortlessly peppered her speech with words like mingle and foray made her seem much more sophisticated. And on this topic, she could speak with authority; she and her brother Aaron had an agnostic Jewish father and a devout Catholic mother.

Ellie and her brother had a two-week head start on Liam reaching the camp. They were already calling it home by the time he arrived and had staked their claim for king and queen. But even they'd been impressed when they conducted their own induction [translation: interrogation] of Liam.

The day the van de Kamps had arrived and emerged into the sunshine with their dinner trays, Ellie and Aaron had pounced, giving him an invitation he couldn't refuse. Ellie took his arm and directed him to a rise off to one side of a row of buildings. There, three other children sat on the low ridge which overlooked the camp and the picnicking grownups.

Liam had sat balancing his plate on his knees while Ellie and Aaron had surveyed the grownups with hawk-like intensity. Their gaze was drawn to the numbers milling around Mr Mulder (as Liam still called him at that stage) and Dr Scully.

Ellie got straight to the point. "Is it true you know Fox Mulder and Dana Scully personally?"

Liam was still chewing when she set her emptied plate aside, her dark eyes wide. She couldn't disguise the mixture of incredulity and envy in her voice. Chatter among the others stopped.

Liam stopped himself from spluttering. _Fox_?

Aaron Paskowitz leaned on his elbows against the hill. "You came with lots of people. I bet Mulder and Scully don't even know your name—you just caught the same bus."

Liam faced off against them.

"Not true. Mr Mulder and Dr Scully _personally_ came to my house to rescue me and my mom and dad."

Aaron jeered. "Mister Mulder?"

"Yes," Liam replied, keeping his cool. " _Mister_ Mulder even rescued my tadpole; brought him all the way from home—just for _me._ "

As retorts went, it wasn't much, but that didn't seem to matter. Brother and sister dropped all swagger and had the decency to look impressed.

"You brought a pet? Cool," Ellie said.

It sealed their friendship and earned him respect, but Ellie wasn't going to give up her place at the top of the pecking order easily. She took any chance to assert her superiority. Somehow that seemed to involve making Liam or whoever her next victim was look stupid.

She would be at church today. Her mother would make sure of that.

While the Major organized a roster for the services, the idea was each week someone different would lead the service in whatever way they wanted. They talked about anything: faith, hope, love, trust, forgiveness, how to treat each other.

So far it was working out more interesting than regular church. As well as Bible readings and prayers and songs, people read from books Liam wasn't familiar with, told personal stories, arranged plays and ran discussion groups.

Liam had heard his mother tell his father after the first the service, it was a "surprisingly successful experiment in exercising tolerance."

Liam sandwiched himself between the Scullys. Ellie's plaited brown hair hung dead center down her back in front of him. He resisted an urge to reach out and tweak it. Around them, the chairs filled quickly—probably because not that many people actually came—less than thirty out of the whole camp, he estimated.

Mulder never came.

Gibson Praise never came either. Why didn't anyone make him come?

Liam sat still but inside he churned. How come his mother seemed so keen to get out of going to church today? So happy to be leaving him behind? Why did _he_ have to go to church?

A woman carrying a book moved to the table which doubled as the lectern.

A riot of frustration raged in his head and he couldn't concentrate on the service. He couldn't stop wondering where his parents were. What they were doing.

Dr Scully roused him when the service ended. The grownups usually stuck around to talk; the children had their own ritual too.

Liam made his way to the other kids milling about on an old basketball court squeezed between two barracks. Of the ninety people living at the camp at least a dozen were children and teenagers; whether they attended church or not, somehow the children all ended up in the same place late on Sunday mornings.

Liam heard Ellie before he saw her. "You can stay if you want, but I don't care. I'm going."

She was planted in the middle of the action, hands on hips, squaring off against her brother.

"Liam's not a fraidy cat." Her smile was calculating. "You'll come won't you, Liam?"

"Come where?" he asked.

She pointed eastward. The desert stretched out until it hit the rocky hills of a small mountain range.

"Charlie says there are some buildings that way that they're gonna turn into a prison just in case they capture anyone trying to break in. I'm gonna go see, but Aaron hasn't got the guts to go beyond the headless horseman."

The headless horseman was a weird shaped cactus they'd named to mark their own boundary. Ellie claimed it looked like a picture she had seen in a book once.

Although the adults hadn't set boundaries, Liam knew he and his friends were expected to be careful. It made sense. With the supersoldiers fresh in his memory, he hadn't been tempted to go beyond eyeshot of the furthermost base shelter.

But four weeks had passed since then.

Mounting frustration was fueling the desire to steal back some of the freedom he was used to—and it wouldn't _really_ be doing anything dangerous and wrong. From the sound of it, the buildings were beyond the inner fence but still within the outer confines of the base. They wouldn't precisely be leaving ...

He wouldn't be able to slip away without saying something to Mrs Scully. He waited for Dr Scully to move away.

"Mrs Scully, you don't mind if I play with Ellie and Charlie and everyone, do you? Mom usually lets me ..."

_That_ wasn't a lie.

Ellie smiled at Mrs Scully.

Mrs Scully smiled back. "Well, so long as you're not going far—"

"We'll be back in time for lunch." _A late lunch_...

A voice stopped him in his tracks. "Make sure you are, Liam. You know what time curfew is today?"

The doctor must have wandered up behind them. Curfew was the term they used for the no-go hours when they should be underground or inside because of the satellites.

"Yes, Dr Scully." He inwardly cursed. It was a short curfew—just one hour—but at one o'clock, the most inconvenient time of day. How could he have forgotten?

Ellie tugged him away. "Not to worry. We'll be back before then," she said under her breath.

Five of them set off. Aaron had given in and was soon at the head of their party, waving about a walking stick he had picked up and pretending he was their chief.

The trick to evading adults was to appear nonchalant; that was how Ellie described it.

So, nonchalantly, they meandered, skipped and leaped across the desert, seeking whatever natural cover the landscape could give them—cacti, small ridges and rises, large rocks.

It was all too easy.

They reached three small tin buildings less than thirty minutes later; it was hard not to feel cheated by the experience.

Liam stared at them. Heat made them shimmer. Shacks, really. With crumbling walls and decaying tin roofs, the hardest thing to comprehend was how they would stay up in a heavy storm—let alone keep prisoners locked up.

Liam and his new friends wandered in and out, unmasked disgust on their faces.

"No shackles, no manacles, no chains," Charlie said, flopping to the concrete floor in the largest one. "No bars, no doors, no nothing. Just a shitty shack."

One by one, the others dropped beside him; the only consolation was the shade under the roof. Liam rested against the cool ground; the corrugated lines overhead seemed to be rippling. An annoying ache was promising to drill through his eye into his brain.

He wasn't used to having headaches.

"Why would they keep prisoners here anyway?" Nick had only just arrived at the camp. His mother was another scientist. Most of their parents were scientists. Sometimes it made Liam feel like the odd one out although nobody had ever mentioned it.

"Dunno," Charlie replied. "Just heard my dad discussing it. They think we need to keep the aliens away from us or something. Anyway. If they captured one they'd never be able to keep it at the camp—they fly apart when they get too close to magnetite. Dad says they'll never make it in. The camp's full of it."

Something about Charlie's reasoning bothered Liam, but his head was too fuzzy to work out what the problem was.

It was fun just sitting and talking—or in Liam's case, listening to the others. Everyone at camp was kind, he didn't have to do much to help out, and there were no real demands on his time. In real life it wouldn't be like that. For one thing, he'd be back at school. In the camp his time was free—it was just ... _he_ wasn't. But here—right now—it was fun doing what he wanted to do. Not having to account for his every move. He sighed in contentment.

They discussed all sorts of things—schools, friends, Gibson Praise, aliens, the earthquake earlier that morning. Nick wanted to hear Liam's story about the supersoldiers. Before he could start, Ellie jumped in, taking over and telling the tale for him. Usually, this might annoy him, but it was kind of fun hearing someone else tell it. Like hearing a story about someone else. He laughed to himself but didn't correct her when she described how Liam had to grab the wheel and steer their vehicle to smash a supersoldier into a post.

When he had sat long enough, he rose for a walk, hoping to shake the tightness in his head. He made it to the sunny side of the shack and shaded his eyes.

They weren't that far from the rocks and cliff faces of the hills that fenced the camp on the eastern side. If they got closer to the hills, there might be more to explore—maybe another secret canyon like the one where the supersoldier disintegrated. And if there was magnetite in the area, it was probably safe from supersoldiers, right?

His eyes skimmed the landscape, dismissing the endless scratchy bushes and bare patches of stony ground and the mysterious dark spot that ...

He did a double take. A spot? A hole? Out here? "Hey, guys, come see this."

His spirit jumped, headache forgotten; there was still some adventure left in the day.

They struck out the short distance to it. A hole in the ground—or a pit—it was hard to say. The earth around the rim didn't look stable.

Liam got on his hands and knees and edged as close as he dared.

Charlie gulped. "Maybe instead of a prison, they're just going to kill people. Maybe this is a grave ..."

"No," Liam said. "Nobody dug this."

"Oh, yeah? How'd you know that, genius?" Ellie could never resist a dig. She stretched to get a better look. Clods of loosened dirt were crumbling in. The hole looked deep enough to hurt if you fell in.

"Well. If someone did dig it, what did they do with the dirt? There's no dirt pile here."

"So ... What? The hole just magically appeared?"

"Magic isn't real, you know," Liam said, wondering if Ellie would respect some of her own snide medicine.

"I get it." Nick laughed. "There's something underneath the dirt! My best friend's car fell into a hole in his backyard once. He woke up one morning after a rain storm and found it poking up. Turns out an old pipe under their lawn collapsed because of the rain and the ground sank."

It was a good explanation—one Liam hadn't thought of. "Exactly!" he said.

"So there's something down there?" Ellie's eyes had a twinkle Liam had learned to recognize.

"Something bigger than a pipe, I'd say," he said. He could see where she was going with this. The lure of adventure turned from a tickle to an itch. Everyone could feel it. Something big and hollow under the ground, something secret and exciting—but what would they need to check it out?

Before he could consider the situation, Ellie gasped and grabbed Charlie's wrist. "What time is it?"

Her face was a picture of panic.

"Curfew starts in fifteen minutes."

All caution forgotten, Aaron jumped up, causing a chunk of dirt to break away from the edge. "Shit."

He snapped when no one else moved. "Don't just sit there. If we run—"

"We'll get ourselves into even deeper shit," Ellie said, panic banished. How she could zip so suddenly from one extreme to another was a mystery to Liam.

"If we leave now, there's no way all of us are gonna make it back in time. Best thing to do is just wait here in the sheds. It's just an hour—no biggie."

"But we'll get in—"

"Trouble?" The sneer on her lips expressed her scorn.

Liam could see her point though.

"What would you rather be?" she said. "Grounded because you forgot the time and maybe made a little mistake? Or getting everyone dead because you are stupid?"

Nick forestalled a fight between the two.

"What's that?" He was looking towards the hills.

Liam got to his feet to see better. Nick pointed to a dark shape at the base of a rock. Swooping dots in the sky circled in figures of eight. Liam felt the hairs on his arm pop up; his head started pounding again.

As if something else controlled his body, he began to move. Sore head or not. He ignored Ellie when she called. His walk became a run and then a sprint.

His head thumped with every step but he ignored that too.

He fell breathless at the side of it. Blond hair lay across its collar and he flicked it aside. The skin on its bare neck was burning. The body began to convulse and murmur. Liam strained to make out what it was saying.

"Vindy obgeh, vindy obgeh, vindy ob—"

Its strength was failing.

"Ellie! Nick!"

It was magic how they appeared at his side.

"Is it—?" Ellie asked.

"No! You've got to get him inside!" Liam sprang to his feet.

"Liam—" Ellie's voice wailed over the dunes and scrubby bush. "Where are you going?"

His feet tore up the ground.

"To get help!"


	13. Chapter 13

October, 2011  
New Mexico

"Sorry, Liam. I'll make it up to you, I promise." Harry van de Kamp grimaced as he gripped the laces on his boots and pulled hard.

Liam schooled the disappointment from his voice. "S'okay, Dad. Maybe tomorrow?"

His father stood. "Third time's a charm, right? You ready?"

"Yeah." Liam swung the small backpack over his shoulder. He questioned his need to have one, but his mother had insisted, so he hadn't argued—the same way he never said anything about the old clothes he had had to wear since his arrival.

They stepped into the dark corridor.

"Be good, Liam," his dad said. "Study hard."

He turned one way, and Liam went the other, deeper into the subterranean heart of the camp. They had done it this way for weeks.

Ellie waved him over to their regular meeting spot when he entered the hall. She was sitting cross-legged on a seat which had been pushed against the wall. At the opposite end of the room, other kids were gathering.

Ellie wasn't one to bother with usual greetings.

"I know why you're grumpy this morning," she said.

Liam bristled. "I'm not grump—"

"Your dad can't make it again."

He couldn't stop himself falling into that trap. "How do you know?"

She preened, pulling a strand of hair and twirling it around her finger.

"I heard Mr Skinner telling Mulder there was another sighting. He said they're sending out a team this morning."

She was very still as she studied him.

Liam shrugged off his bag and sank beside her. "It's the third time in a week Dad's had to go out."

"S'probably just another false alarm."

"Probably."

"It'll be some hiker going the wrong way."

"Dumb hiker."

She snorted. "Stupid supersoldiers."

"Yeah."

After a silent beat, Ellie stirred. "I haven't heard them say anything about the hole."

She yawned and stretched her legs, toes pointed, a study in nonchalance. It gave him a momentary pang; she was like his cat, Blue. It hurt to think about his pets.

"Maybe they found it and don't want to tell us?"

"Nah, they'd be acting sneakier—or they'd add it to the list of places we can't go. They don't know. Liam?" She turned to face him, her teeth bared in a grin. "Lechuguilla!"

His forehead crinkled. _Lechu-what?_ It tickled at his memory.

Ellie's elbow went into his ribs. "Shhh—I'll tell you later." His mother was approaching.

In the excitement of Rudi's arrival, the mysterious hole in the desert had escaped mention. Although they had never discussed it, a silent agreement had been forged among the children. It was their secret, the grownups weren't to know about it. After all—it was just a hole in the ground, wasn't it?

His mother's warm smile convinced Liam she hadn't heard anything that might spark her interest.

"Class is starting now, you two," she said, motioning them to join their classmates. Ellie was probably right; the secret was still safe.

School was not what he had been expecting—not that he'd had much time to have expectations.

For one thing, his mother was now his teacher. Once upon a time, long before he was born, she had been a real teacher. She used to have photos ...

Lessons were held in the hall where Rudi had shocked them with his tale. There were long stalls but no desks; they had little paper to write on and few pencils or pens. Age didn't matter—there was only one class, teenagers mixed in with elementary school kids. In the first week, they spent more time playing games his mother devised than anything else.

By the end of the second week Liam noticed a change. They were developing a routine: math, science and social studies in the morning and story-time, writing, arts and sports after lunch.

What they couldn't write down for lack of paper, they were encouraged to do in their heads. His mother had met a malevolent and resistant class when she sprang that on them. It was the first run in she had with Ellie. It was also the last.

"I can't do it without paper, Mrs V. I need to see it in front of me." Ellie's arms knotted across her chest.

Liam's mother wasn't mean but she didn't sound too sympathetic either. "If it was good enough for Laura Ingalls, it's good enough for us."

"Huh?" Ellie screwed up her face.

Liam contained his grin. His mother had read him _Little House on the Prairie_ years ago. He'd lost interest in having her read to him after two or three books—not because the books weren't interesting, but because he wanted to read them himself. He had never told her he _did_ read the rest of the series.

"School children a hundred years ago learned to do sums in their heads, Ellie." Mrs van de Kamp's eyes twinkled. "They were very clever, wouldn't you say?"

Liam admired her tactic. Ellie never complained again, and in recess she dragged him aside so they could practice talking through long division problems.

His mother really _was_ a teacher. She organized their lessons _and_ she organized the adults. Usually one, sometimes two, joined her everyday in the classroom so the kids could be divided up. When she wasn't helping in the kitchen, Mrs Scully was a frequent visitor. She was often joined by Mrs Fawbert, who was a friend of Mr Skinner's and had arrived on the same plane which got Mulder to the camp ahead of them.

Even the scientists helped out. Liam's friends from the bus always grinned at him when they arrived to teach the older students math and science. Shu sometimes stayed longer to tutor a teenager in Japanese. Liam's father had promised to come in when he could.

Not everyone came. Dr Scully was busy, whether she was buried in a lab or running the camp's infirmary. Mulder spent a lot of time with Mr Skinner. The guide Eric spent more time traveling between here and the outside world to seem a part of the camp. For the brief periods when he was around longer than a day, he seemed to spend most of his time over at Gibson Praise's quarters, bent over a chess board.

Of course, Gibson Praise never came to the classroom. These days Liam hardly saw him—even at a distance. He seldom descended underground.

It felt safer down here.

With the exception of Gibson and Eric, no one seemed keen to be outside longer than the time it took to run between buildings. After Rudi, it took Liam a week to look up; vapor trails in the blue made his skin creep. Satellites were one thing—drone planes were another.

The open sky was heavy, and unexpected noises—a door slamming, a scrape of chair leg on linoleum, an echo of footsteps running down the corridor—made Liam's heart gallop.

And it wasn't just him. Everyone was jumpy.

If there was going to be any fallout from their desperate dash through the desert to save Ruud van der Veldt, it hadn't shown up yet. That didn't mean it wasn't out there.

The scientists spent hours locked away with Rudi, studying the artifact and questioning him. By agreement, Dr Scully became protector of the thing every night. Extra security teams patrolled the camp's outer perimeter.

By the third week of school, his mother had Liam and his classmates composing open letters to the camp, requesting a computer and crayons for the littlest kids.

That brought Major Drummond himself to the classroom for the first time.

In front of them, with his roly-poly stomach straining against his red shirt, and his white beard and brushed curls corkscrewing around his dour face, the Major was like a confused Santa dropped from his sleigh. His mouth wasn't used to smiling; Liam had the impression when he tried, it caused him pain. While he talked, his drooping mouth and animated eyebrows seemed engaged in a battle of wills. The brows wiggled and bounced even as he explained why everyone had to make do with what they had.

"We all have to make sacrifices," he said. "Your mommies and daddies are trying to find a way to prevent the colonists' plans, but they have to work in secret, and that means it's very difficult for them to get everything they need."

Shiny, blank faces stared back at him.

"So, I'm asking you to be patient and to trust us, and to know that in the end, your sacrifices today mean tomorrow you can have all the paper and coloring pens you want."

A little kid started to cry. The Major blinked. Liam's mother chose that moment to capture the room's attention by clapping and jumping from her seat.

"Thank you, Major Drummond. I'm sure we all found that helpful. Everyone, let's say thank you to the Major for visiting class today."

They clapped.

The Major scuttled sideways to the door, opening it only as wide as he needed to squeeze through.

The following morning they bustled into the hall to discover an old laptop and some marker pens on Mrs van de Kamp's desk.

This morning was dragging. It was one of those rare days when Liam could summon only half-hearted interest in his studies. He pretended to miss the raised eyebrow his mother directed at him when he whispered to Ellie during their math lesson.

Not that Ellie was whispering back. She seemed to be taking his mother's side, glaring at him whenever he tried to bring up the hole. It was typical for her to raise a subject, then keep him dangling.

He was just finishing the set of geometry questions his mother had prepared for his class when the main hall door swung in. Liam looked up to see Dr Scully enter. She surveyed the room before she stepped across to his mother. Liam listened with interest when she spoke.

"I'm here to take Toby's physics class." Liam eyed the senior class. _Lucky seniors._

"Poor Toby. Has he got it now?" his mother said.

'It' was a stomach flu making its way through the camp. Liam was one of the few pupils to have been spared it. Both his parents had spent a day curled in the infirmary, vomiting and feeling sorry for themselves. Liam was pleased to have dodged that bullet.

The teenagers warmed to Dr Scully immediately. It was like getting a guitar lesson from a rock star. Toby had sourced study material from the internet, and she was probably following his plans. Whatever she had them doing was fascinating enough to keep them engaged with their heads around the computer. He wondered what excuse he could make to go over there.

Once, when he looked up from his own work, he saw her looking at him. Startled, she smiled and dropped her head. His heart thrilled.

She left before he got the chance to say hello, and he spent the rest of the morning feeling dissatisfied. It was like approaching Rudi in the infirmary. He could never bring himself to act. Like the day Mulder and Dr Scully had driven into his life.

_What if things had been different—if they had been real kidnappers?_

He hadn't done anything then, either. _Not fast enough._ He bit his lip, trying to decide how that scenario might have ended.

Lunch had been served and everyone had a half-hour break. No one had been keen at first, but every day Liam's mother coaxed them outside when there was no curfew; the lure of sunshine was only now beginning to lull their nerves.

Liam sprawled on the low hill where Ellie and Aaron had interrogated him weeks ago. For once Ellie was nowhere to be found. Nick and Aaron had emerged from underground with bat and ball and called him to join them.

 _Maybe later_ , he'd said.

The upset he had squashed this morning, when his father couldn't make it to class, still needed dealing with. It wasn't so much that his father had had to bail on him for a third time—well, not just that. There were other things weighing on his mind. Things that he'd avoided thinking about for much longer.

"Are you alright, Liam?"

He flinched. The doctor was already sitting beside him by the time he regained his wits. She must be the grownup on duty. There was always one at least.

Liam thought about her question. Although he didn't like it, the truth seemed more trouble than it was worth admitting.

"I'm fine, Dr Scully."

Her forehead furrowed then relaxed and she let out a low chuckle. She held out her hand. "I thought you might need this."

He took the hat from her with a grin. "Thanks. Mom's always reminding me."

"Well, she doesn't want you getting heat stroke again, does she?"

"Not gonna happen," Liam said, shaking his head. "Only I ..."

She gave him an inquiring look.

"Every now and then I still get headaches." It felt stupid saying it. The headaches weren't serious. Not like the day in the desert.

He didn't get sick often. A regular, dull ache once or twice a week now was a new experience—one of many he had faced since he came here—and he didn't like drawing attention to his problems. But if he couldn't tell a doctor, who _could_ he tell?

"Hmm."

"They're not as bad," he added. "You're not going to tell Mom, are you?"

More kids had joined the game. A loud whack was followed by hoots, and Aaron's ball sailed over the field. Dr Scully followed its arc. "You don't want to play?"

Liam shrugged. "Maybe in a bit."

He marveled at her talent for silent interrogation. With the arch of an eyebrow, he knew she was seeing through him. He made a snap decision to trust her with _some_ his thoughts.

"My dad goes out more than anyone else's."

She nodded once and slowly. "We're lucky he is who he is."

They looked across the land at the same time: open and empty desert gave way to purple and gray rocks of the mountains. His father was somewhere out there. Dr Scully traced a line in the dust with her finger. "You wish he didn't go out so much?"

Liam looked away.

"You know, Liam, he's not out there alone."

"We're only here because of you." There. He said it. He'd had to pry the thought from deep within and fit it into words which could only say a fraction of what he meant.

Her hand froze.

"If you and Mulder hadn't rescued us ... but I don't get it." He twisted to face at her. "You rescued us to save Dad. To stop Dad becoming a supersoldier. But Dad's the only one you rescued. And everyone here is either a scientist, or has a mom or dad who's a scientist, or ..."

Even as he said it, he knew it wasn't correct. "Or maybe not a scientist—but everyone knew about the invasion. We didn't."

She frowned. "You would have found out. Sooner rather than later, I think."

"Yes. Just like lots of people will. But not everyone can come here. I heard Major Drummond tell Mr Skinner camp's nearly half full already. What will happen to the people who have nowhere to go?"

Her hand resumed its tracing. She pulled at a long grass head, worrying the stem. "I can't give you any answers to those questions, Liam. I wish I could."

"I know. I guess I just feel lucky—but frightened—like maybe I don't really belong here? That's it, Dr Scully. I don't know why I'm here. Why _did_ you kidnap us?"

The stem snapped in her fingers. "We've already told you, Liam. To save your dad. To save you and your mom."

He shook his head. "No, you don't get me. Why did you kidnap _us_? How did you decide on us?"

"Those were our instructions ..."

"Whose instructions? And why us?"

He heard her teeth grind. "I can't tell you, Liam. I wish I could. I can't."

He expected her to get up and leave. She didn't. Tiny movements, the pull on her mouth, tightening at the eyes, gave away her discomfort.

Another whack echoed around the hill, and the ball swung far, heading in the direction of Gibson Praise's cabin.

"Get that, will you, Liam?" Aaron yelled.

Gibson's hut had become a no-go zone, with the man himself reaching almost boogeyman status among Liam's friends. He sighed. He was the closest. If he didn't go, Aaron would never let him forget it. He pushed himself up and rubbed the dirt from his hands. "See you later, Dr Scully."

She opened her mouth to say something, but he knew it wouldn't be what he wanted to hear. He launched himself down the incline, luxuriating in his burst of energy.

He let out a whoop—half frustration, half relief—as he raced across the ground, slowing up only when he neared the building. He hadn't been here since his last mad rush through the desert.

The scrub behind Gibson's small quarters was thick and on the high side. Bending into the undergrowth, stabbed by sharp stalks, Liam muttered. He could be here for hours searching.

The crunch of footsteps on the hard soil alerted him, and he crouched lower. There was no sign saying he couldn't be here, but there was a definite out-of-bounds feeling about the place.

He froze at the sound of a knock on the door. He could guess who the visitor would be. Liam dared himself to creep along the wall.

"Checking up on me?" Gibson's voice was snotty.

"Skinner's just called in." Since when had Mulder been unwelcome at the boogeyman's lair? "They're bringing in a hiker—human. Skinner wants your opinion."

"He wants me to read him, you mean."

"Your talents in that area could prove useful. Apparently the hiker says his dog led him here."

"That's a new one."

Liam edged closer, wishing he could put his head around the corner and still stay hidden. He crouched low, now thankful for the wild tangle of scrub.

The door squeaked and feet trod on the floorboards. When Gibson continued, he was less abrupt. "Have you told Scully anything yet?"

"You know very well I haven't told Scully. And you know I know you know. I get the rebuke, Gibson."

"For someone who claims to be truth's great defender, you've always been expert at clamming up on dangerous secrets."

Liam couldn't tell if that was meant to be an insult—Mulder didn't _sound_ fussed. "Skinner says Eric and Cooper are bringing this man in. He should be here shortly."

"I'll be there." The way he snapped it out, Gibson was more riled than Mulder. "If you're not going to tell her about Monica or de Rosier, you should at least tell her about Esther. And don't give me that crap about when it's safe—it's never going to be safe."

Esther? Hadn't they talked about Esther before? Who did they mean? Certainly not someone in the camp. Liam was confident he knew everyone—at least by sight.

Gibson hadn't finished.

"I _am_ your friend, Mulder, but that means sometimes _you_ annoy me more than the bastards who stir-fried my brain."

"I get it, Gibson—I suck. But it's not just me you're annoyed with, the way you isolate yourself from the rest of the camp, hiding out in this shack."

Gibson gave a grunt.

"Why should I come out? No one wants to listen to me any way. I'm just the freak—the alien-fucked mutant—with the chip on his shoulder."

 _Freak? Alien-fucked?_ Had he heard that right? Were the rumors true? Was Gibson the result of some horrific alien experiment?

"I'm useful but nobody has to like me. And what I say comes from that deep, dark twisted place that is my not-good-enough-for-human-company hybrid brain."

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable.

"Nobody has to _really_ listen to me. They're just sitting here. They're inert. They're worse than inert. They're pathetic. They could be doing more. _We_ could be doing more. We're not doing enough of the right things. This isn't what I wanted. This isn't what I planned but they don't want to hear me! Don't forget—I know their thoughts. I know yours. You know I'm right. And don't bother telling me—"

"You were developing an ability to control it, Gibson. You were succeeding. Have you decided to give up because you tried one time and didn't get your own way?"

"I can't help it. I'm angry. Ever since you jeopardized everything with your little rescue mission. I can't control it when I'm pissed off. All I hear is this"—Liam heard the struggle in his voice—"this din. It's mindless chatter. Hundreds of caged monkeys. And their thoughts are so _small_ and so petty. So likely to get us nowhere."

The catch, the tiny quiver in his voice, was unexpected. Liam sat up, galvanized. Something about Gibson finally made sense like a puzzle piece dropping into place. It didn't scare Liam—just the opposite. The power of his awe overcame his sense of self-preservation. He stood and rounded the corner of the building. That he had been eavesdropping didn't matter. Not in this situation. Knowing was more important; knowledge trumped all. He stopped in the open doorway.

"You read minds!"

Gibson fixed a clinical stare on Liam, all vulnerability disappearing. He didn't seem surprised. "No flies on you, kid."

"I don't believe you. Mind reading's impossible."

"God, make your mind up."

"But it's not possible." Liam couldn't stop staring. Somehow it made sense and somehow it didn't. "I mean, not in real life. People can't really read minds."

Gibson glanced at Mulder, a smirk twisting his mouth.

"He doesn't really mean it. He really wants to believe." Gibson rolled his eyes. "He's the perfect embodiment of skeptic and sucker."

"Gibson ..." It was Mulder's turn to sound a warning and Gibson's turn to ignore him.

"That's right, brat. You've stumbled across our secret superheroes' hideout where us genetic mutants are planning our revenge on the monsters who birthed us into Hell."

Gibson was scornful of Mulder's sigh.

"No, Mulder. It's about time he heard some truths. That's right, Liam. Van. de. Kamp. I read minds. I can read yours. You're hacked off because you're worried you don't belong here. You can't bring yourself to tell your mother you hate the clothes she had to scavenge for you. Your little friend infuriates you with her know-all game-play. You can't stand secrets but here you are. Stuck in the desert in the middle of you-don't-know-where, playing a game of hide and secret with the most dangerous predators ever seen on this planet.

"Do you know what these monsters do to little boys who display too much talent? Just look at me. They lifted the top of my head off like a lunchbox lid. They feasted on my brain. They stuck their knives and forks in and suctioned the curd out before deciding it wasn't tasty enough. They've got their eyes on something much more delectable ..."

Liam's stomach churned. What to react to? The gross invasion of his innermost thoughts, the fact there _was_ a gross invasion of his innermost thoughts, or the horrific image of cannibalistic scientists now planted in his mind?

He decided not to let himself be intimidated and glared back at Gibson. "Freak."

Mulder sighed again. "Children."

Gibson's smirk reappeared. "Maybe it's time you taught the brat some manners, Mulder."

He was just—just a jerk. It was time to stop being scared of this man.

"I don't like liars. I don't want to be lied to," Liam said with a thrust of his jaw.

The men shifted uneasily.

"Gibson sort of isn't lying." Mulder glanced sideways at the other man. "He has an ability which gives us an advantage, Liam.

"We could call it a gift—but it was an unwanted gift—and one that came with strings attached. Gibson doesn't like talking about it, but he doesn't necessarily believe in keeping secrets."

Liam's eyes narrowed. "Okay then, what's your talent? If everyone here is a mutant freak with a superpower, what's yours?"

Mulder's shoulders rose and fell. Then he winked. "I see dead people, kid."

Gibson sniggered, and Liam wanted to kick him.

Mulder fixed a resigned look on Gibson. "Could you go on ahead? I'll catch up."

The smirk was still plastered on Gibson's face as he slunk away. Liam watched him retreat with a mix of anger and amusement. Gibson wasn't the boogeyman—he was just a big, pathetic jerk. Not someone who deserved the fear he had inspired.

"Liam, the monsters who created the supersoldiers may have had a hand in giving Gibson the ability to read thoughts. I don't know if you can guess what that might mean for him. His talent isn't a secret—not completely—but he finds it difficult to be around people when they often say one thing and mean another. He doesn't want to scare people, so he tries to stay out of their way—especially you kids."

A lifetime of reading people's minds. Knowing their fears, knowing their real thoughts, knowing their deepest secrets, when they smiled at you but inside were skinning you alive. Knowing they hated you and called you a boogeyman. Liam got it; Mulder was telling him to cut Gibson some slack. He didn't want to, but ...

The image of a weird scientist welding chopsticks and a meat cleaver sprang back into his head. It didn't make it any easier to like the man, but he would just have to try. His conscience wouldn't let him do anything else.

"Okay," Liam said, mastering his reluctance, "but you don't really see dead people, do you?"

Mulder put his hand on his heart in mock sincerity. "God's honest truth."

Liam couldn't account for the dissatisfaction this answer provided him.

By the time he made it back to the game with the ball, the field was empty. Liam could hear voices—a steady hum from the other side of the camp.

Ellie appeared from between two buildings. When she saw him, she broke into a run.

"Liam, come see. They caught someone. They've got a prisoner—they bringing him here!"

She had grabbed his arm and tugged him along. They ducked through the narrow corridor she had just come from but stopped when they hit bright sunlight. Before them was a wall of backs—the entire camp was milling, whispering—waiting for something. A dog barked.

"Where—"

Ellie's clutch on his arm grew tighter. "Follow me," she said, and she began to weave through the crowd.

Slipping between two adults, Liam made it to the inner edge; his mother broke through across from him.

"Liam!"

Her call was a warning, but for what? He stared at the drama in the centre of the group.

They really did have a prisoner. He was flanked by Eric and Cooper, the guide who was always chewing grass stalks. Two more guides stood behind them, gripping the rifles.

Ice surged in Liam's blood.

_He looks old. Leathery._

The prisoner towered over his guards but made no move to threaten or agitate. His deeply hooded eyes made him seem sleepy or cagey. What he made of them was a mystery. The crowd was jittery.

Liam's mother called out again; Liam was only half aware. Her warning was futile. He had already seen what she hoped to conceal. Another guard, behind the others, struggled as a mad thing strained against his arms.

A collective gasp tore across the group when a black and white blur broke free and careened toward the throng.

Liam had no time to brace.

The dog leaped, and over they went; she landed on his chest, knocking the breath out of him. She barked furiously.

"Sal!"

Someone—maybe Ellie—shrieked; he couldn't understand the screams. He wasn't aware of anything but the dog panting at his ear until his mother cried out again.

"Don't shoot!"

For the second time in his life, Liam found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Don't shoot! It's just Sal. She's ours! She's ours." His mother skidded to his side. She threw her arms around the neck of their Wyoming farm dog.

"Sal Sal Sal," she said over and over, burying her face in the dog's fur.

The camp had fallen silent and with sudden shyness Liam realized his family was now the center of attention. He pulled himself up and raised his eyes to the prisoner.

Paul Stanaway, their old neighbor hadn't moved a whisker.

"How—" Liam wasn't heard over the hiss of disapproval which swept the group.

"Out of my way," Gibson said, shoving his way to the center. A trail of sullen onlookers glared, but his rudeness was soon forgotten.

He halted ten yards from Stan and his eyes bulged.

"Get that _thing_ out of here. Destroy it!"

Liam's gaze swept the scene, desperate to find the intruder who set off Gibson's temper. His eyes came back to rest on the face of his old friend and his stomach knotted.

Gibson's word was law. Eric's hand had already seized the prisoner. A tiny blade appeared like magic in his other hand.

"Stop!"

Could this moment get any stranger? For a moment Liam thought his mother had screamed again. But it wasn't her—not this time.

The crowd parted for Dr Scully like water—in direct contrast to Gibson's wake.

She reached up to put her hand on Gibson's arm. Her touch was light and quick, its effect immediate. Gibson's face became smooth.

Dr Scully approached Stan. She circled him, wonder on her face. Calm spread through the group on the strength of her smile. Eric lowered his hands.

Dr Scully was oblivious to the power she commanded.

"Jeremiah. Jeremiah Smith."


	14. Chapter 14

~~~~September 25, 2011  
New Mexico

The desert blurred past him.

Stitch slashed his abdomen; giant hands at his ribs squeezed him in half. His strides devoured distance. He had no choice: a satellite, a wind, a dying man's breath chased him.

Unconsciously he knew where to go. He let nothing be an obstacle, his course was straight. The camp hangars and buildings reared before him. He was heading to a small house on the outskirts. _As far away from the others as possible._

Liam couldn't slow himself and didn't try; he plowed into the door, thudding against it, pummeling with both arms. He toppled forward, and hands seized and dragged him in, setting him upright.

"Liam?"

They stood over him: Mulder concerned, Gibson unwelcoming. Air grazed his windpipe, going down in shivers.

"There's a man"—palms on thighs, he doubled over—"in the desert."

"You've been in the desert?" Lines on Mulder's face deepened. "What—"

"He needs help—he's dying."

Like an angry minus bar, Gibson's brows drew together above the rims of his glasses. "Too bad."

Mulder turned a granite face, all hard with sharp edges, on his companion. Liam had to hurry to explain.

"Ellie and Charlie and the rest, they're out with him—they're in an old building. They're under cover!" Yes, they had been reckless—he could see that now—but Mulder and Gibson had to understand they hadn't been entirely stupid.

"Then they can stay there." The negative sign above Gibson's glasses didn't budge. "An hour won't kill them—though their parents might. Mrs Scully's been looking for you. She's frantic."

"What do you mean, Gibson?" Mulder's expression became curious.

Gibson shrugged. "Mrs Scully's been searching for Liam for half an hour."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" Mulder drew himself up. "If you knew—"

"It would have been rude." Gibson's smirk was a challenge for Mulder to disagree.

Liam looked from one to the other. Were they having a fight? He wanted to stamp his foot. This wasn't the time. "We've got to do something! Please! He's going to die!"

Gibson rounded on him.

"If you go outside now, you could get us killed too. Do you want that? Your mom and dad? Mrs Scully? Everyone here? How selfish would that be?"

"But he's out there ..."

_Did I run so fast for nothing?_ He had known he would be in trouble for missing curfew, but wasn't someone dying in the desert more important? He had to make them understand.

"He was lying on his face," Liam said, "speaking a funny language. Birds were flying round him. He wasn't a supersoldier—I know it!" The words strangled in his throat. Tears threatened to bust from the corners of his eyes. He didn't know what else to do. They wouldn't leave a man to die, would they?

Mulder reached a hand to Liam's shoulder. "How far out would you say he is?"

Gibson let out a growl. "Don't do it, Mulder."

Liam sniffed. "About twenty minutes walk—faster if you run."

"And what makes you think he's dying?"

The question caught him off-guard. He stumbled over his answer. "Because ... because ... I just _know_ he's dying."

"Right then." Mulder reached across a table for his cellphone.

Gibson made no move to stop him but his anger was obvious. "If you go out that door, Mulder, you could ruin everything!"

"I didn't agree to surrender decency when I passed through the gates of this camp, Gibson. I'm not going to let fear dictate the terms of my own sense of wrong and right. That's something you might want to think about."

"The risks—"

"Can be mitigated. You know everything I know about Esther. You know what she's capable of."

Gibson called as Mulder hurried Liam outside. "How long's it going to be before they work it out, Mulder? Before they work out how we're getting help? Are you ready to risk our one hope all for one person?"

Mulder shut the door in Gibson's enraged face.

It felt strange and scary to be outside. Real no man's land. Liam may have made it to Gibson's cabin just in time, but curfew must have started by now. Mulder pointed to the closest hangar, and they dashed toward it. As they ran, Mulder put the phone to his ear.

"Scully? No time for questions. Meet me at hangar 2. Yeah, I know the kids are missing—I know where they are—I've got Liam right here with me now. No, the others are—look, I'll tell you when you meet me."

They arrived at the hangar first, but Liam had no time to regain his breath. An inner door swung wide and Scully appeared, the echo of feet thundering up the stairs behind her. Major Drummond and adults poured into the space around them. At the sight of Mulder and Liam, their questions flooded the room.

Mulder put his hands up. "We haven't got time. Liam found a man collapsed in the desert about twenty minutes walking distance from here."

"Collapsed?" Dr Scully looked from Mulder to Liam.

"The other kids are with him—it sounds like they're sheltering at one of the outposts. Liam thinks the man is dying. If we're going to save him, we don't have time to dick around."

Voices broke out again. Major Drummond's drowned all out. "Are you insane? What about the curfew?"

"We'll have to break it. We can take care of the satellite situation later."

"How?" The question came from several people at once. Liam also wanted to know. Did Mulder and Gibson know something about it that the others didn't? That had been his impression.

Mulder's response was vague. "We've got a few get-out-of-jail free cards. Not many—but enough. If we drive now, we could save this man's life—"

The clamor rose a notch.

"Did you say our kids are out there with this man—"

"What if it's some kind of new supersoldier—"

"But if they find out we're here—"

The grownups were torn. It bothered Liam when they didn't seem to know what they were doing.

Dr Scully forced the issue. There were several vehicles in the hangar. She went to one: a mini-van. "Will this thing go off road?"

Liam didn't see who answered. "It will if you make it."

Dr Scully yanked open a door and reached behind a vizor.

"You're driving." She chucked the keys at Mulder. "Liam, you're going to have to direct us, okay?"

"Dana, do you think it's safe to take Liam out?"

Liam hadn't noticed Mrs Scully. He looked at his shoes. She sounded worried, not angry as he knew she had every right to be. Somehow her concern made it worse; his head dipped lower and he scuffed his feet.

"He'll be as safe as the rest of us, Mom."

No one tried to stop them, but Liam could tell by the looks people had when the van screeched out of the hangar this wasn't the end of the subject.

Liam flopped back on a seat, exhaustion catching up with him. The headache he'd suppressed was back with a vengeance. He spoke only to answer Dr Scully's questions and point Mulder in the right direction. He couldn't raise a smile when he saw Mulder checking the rear vision mirror.

The van was unbelievably fast, covering the distance in minutes. When they pulled up at the outpost, the place looked empty.

Dr Scully leaned into Mulder. "They did a good job concealing themselves."

Mulder had pulled in close to the opening at the biggest of the three structures—the one Liam thought they would be in.

All was silent and still until Ellie's distinctive bossy voice rang out. "It's okay, guys. It's just Mulder and Scully!"

Faces appeared at the threshold.

While they peered out, Liam's friends were careful to remain in the shadow of the roof overhang.

Taking control, as she liked to do, Ellie ushered in Dr Scully. "He's here, Dr Scully. We gave him some water, but we didn't have anything to cover him."

Dr Scully knelt beside the man and ran her hand behind his neck before feeling for his pulse. She pulled down his jaw and checked his eyes. Mulder bent beside her.

"He's in bad shape." Only the closest would have heard her. "We can't wait."

That was all Mulder needed. He hoisted the man up. Aaron and Charlie stepped forward to take his legs although there was no need. Wrists and legs like sticks, the man couldn't have weighed much more than an armful of kindling. The jostling brought him round and a faint gurgle came from his throat.

"Vindy ... vind—" he muttered before his face went slack again.

Liam was overcome by a wave of nausea. The ground moved under his feet the same way it had this morning in the earthquake.

Dr Scully noticed Liam swaying. "Are you feeling alright, Liam?"

"No, ma'am," he said, "my head hurts." It was a struggle even getting that much out.

She put a hand on his forehead and nodded. "Hop back in the van. I'll get to you when I can."

Mulder had laid the man out longwise on a seat. Liam's friends piled into the back around him.

"Up here, son," Mulder said, indicating the front seat. He stretched over to offer Liam a hand. Liam took it gratefully. His legs had gone rubbery, and he had to summon all his energy to haul himself up.

Dr Scully was the last in; she was already on her phone. "Mom, I need you to prepare something for me."

She rattled off a strange list: salt, baking powder, sugar, orange juice and water. "I need you to mix the quantities I gave you. Just make it into one drink. Then meet us in the infirmary."

No one in the back was sitting down. When Liam turned to check on the man, he saw his friends leaning over the stranger and crowding around Dr Scully. As soon as she was off the phone, Ellie peppered the doctor with questions.

"Are you sure he's comfortable? What if he stops breathing? Should we give him more water?"

A bead of sweat on Liam's forehead broke free and dribbled down his face. He struggled to hold himself upright. He tried not to think about every bump the vehicle hit and concentrated on telling his stomach it didn't feel pukey. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep out the light and wanted to cry for happiness when the van braked. The sliding door squealed back on its runner.

Liam rolled himself out of the van and followed the others downstairs.

He made it as far as the infirmary before the thumping in his head took over. While the others surrounded the bed where they put the stranger, Liam dragged himself onto another and curled in a ball. His eyelids cracked a fraction when Mrs Scully nudged him.

"Take this."

He whimpered and swallowed the liquid. Then he sank back into the pillow; someone in his head was ringing bells or banging drums or there were horses galloping or ...

It was dark when he woke. The hum from a rattling fan was the only sound in the room. He wasn't alone. A thread of light spilled from the hallway onto Mrs Scully's hands, which were clasped in her lap. She was dozing in a chair next to him.

Liam wriggled and tapped his head, relieved to discover it no longer hurt. He pulled himself up, trying not to rustle the sheets. He didn't want to wake Mrs Scully. Too late: she came to with a jolt. When she saw Liam sitting up, she smiled.

It was too much for him and his garbled apology spilled out before he had time to frame it properly.

"I am sorry, Mrs Scully. I—I didn't mean to worry you."

What Mrs Scully thought, Liam didn't hear; a stranger calling in the dark interrupted them.

" _Hallo_?" It was hesitant and plaintive. " _Hallo_?"

Mrs Scully rose and hurried in the direction of the voice.

"You're awake," she said. "How are you feeling?"

A pitiful laugh filled the room. " _Ek het daar gekom, Oupa._ "

* * *

Rudi van der Veldt caused a stir in the camp. First there was his dramatic arrival, then his speedy recovery. Overnight, it seemed everyone had some excuse to traipse through the infirmary.

By mid-morning, Dr Scully was starting to get short with the visitors—many of whom had "just come down to see how Liam was doing."

"He's fine!" was her exasperated assessment as she shooed out Ellie for the third time. Ever the risk-taker, Ellie leaned around the doctor to mouth a question to Liam. "Did you talk to him?"

Liam shook his head.

The sick man had woken long enough the previous night to tell Mrs Scully something that made her speed away and return with her daughter.

It was the perfect opportunity for Liam to approach the man. Should he? His hesitation cost him.

Mrs Scully, Mulder and the doctor entered just as he was about to get off his bed. He froze and pretended to be asleep. He planned to listen in on their conversation but was thwarted when they all disappeared into Dr Scully's office. The man walked by himself, shrugging off Mrs Scully's offer of an arm.

Liam drifted off before they re-emerged. When he woke, the man already had visitors—the Major and some of the scientists.

Again Liam's plans to eavesdrop came to nothing. Mrs Scully turned up to take his temperature and bring him breakfast.

"Your father came to see you last night but you were out like a light," she said, placing a tray beside his bed. "He came in to see you this morning, too, but he left to check out the spot you kids were exploring yesterday. Your mother's not expected back until the afternoon, so you're stuck with me until one of them returns. You'll be staying here where I can keep an eye on you."

Liam chewed on a mouthful of cereal. "Why has Dad gone to look at the buildings, Mrs Scully?"

Mrs Scully picked up some knitting she was working on. In instant rhythm the needles began to flick back and forward. "The man you found says he dropped something important in the desert."

"What?"

"I'm not really sure." Not missing a stitch, she glanced over at the adults now surrounding the man's bed. Whatever the man had to say was making everyone who heard it look serious.

Liam still didn't know any more when his father turned up from the desert to take him back to his quarters. Anyway, he had other things to worry about. His father was _not_ happy.

Liam knew his escapade the previous day was not going to go unremarked, but when they got back to their rooms, his father said only one thing.

"We'll discuss the consequences of your actions when your mother gets back, Liam. Until then, you're to stay in your room."

Liam knew it was pointless to ask about the stranger and what he'd lost in the desert, but he tried anyway.

"You'll find out when everyone else does, son, and no sooner." Mr van de Kamp refused to say anymore.

As punishments went, an afternoon stuck in his room watching Jerry wasn't too bad, and Liam didn't have long to wait for his curiosity to be satisfied. A public meeting was called for that evening; everyone—including the children (since they had found him)—was to hear the stranger's story.

They assembled, packing out the hall. Many were now staring (or pretending not to stare) at the empty seat at the head of the room. A table had been placed beside the chair, a glass of water and a plate set on the table.

Before the man was brought in, Major Drummond addressed the hall.

"We have a decision to make. You will all hear this man's story—in his own words. Then we must all decide how we are to deal with him; whether we believe his story or not." His own words lingered ominous in the air.

Liam sat flanked by his parents. Neither had spoken to him yet about his excursion into the desert. He had been careful not to look them in the eye.

His mother had only just arrived back, but from the grim set of her face when she slipped into their quarters that afternoon, Liam knew she had already heard about his adventure. He wondered who told her.

He hoped the stranger's story took some time to tell. Anything to delay the inevitable. He knew he was in big trouble. His head had even started to ache again in anticipation—although not as badly as yesterday.

The room quietened when Mulder led in a tall, rail-thin figure.

When the man sank onto the chair, his oversized shirt ballooned around him. The scooped-out hollows in his cheeks formed deep shadows. When he stared back out at the mass of faces before him, however, he gave off no sign of nervousness and his voice was strong.

"My name is Ruud van der Veldt—my family called me Rudi. I'm 26 years old. I feel older. Your doctor tells me it is the middle of September. I know _how_ but I can't tell you _why_ I came to be here. I left my home on August 7, I think. My home is— _was_ —a place not far from the border town Beitbridge in Zimbabwe."

Liam wracked his brain, trying to recall what he knew about that place. It wasn't much. Maybe a place in Africa somewhere?

"I lived with my grandfather on our farm. He had a way of knowing things. He always, _always_ knew when something bad was coming. When the Zanla came, we were waiting. We prepared and waited because _Oupa_ knew. The Zanla came and kept coming—it took them five years to steal most of our farm. We were the last white farmers left near Beitbridge. We could have run, but my _Oupa_ loved his farm."

The man—Rudi—had a hard face. His strange accent, with its weird musical swoops and stops, made everything he said sound like a challenge.

His story didn't start how Liam might have expected, and Liam found himself wondering what it had to do with life here. Or aliens. Or invasions. But he didn't need to be told something bad had happened to Rudi.

"Against other men it was a fair fight. Maybe we lost in the end, but we always knew they were coming. We could defend ourselves. And we did. They made it legal to seize our land—but they never took our house. Never."

His face blazed—then the fire vanished. "But we were nothing to the _vreemdelinge."_

Hatred contorted his face. The familiar expression shocked Liam, and he scanned the room to see if Gibson Praise was listening.

"The _vreemdelinge_ —the other-worlders—you could know a year before they would arrive and still nothing you could do could prepare you. You could hide—I did—under my bed when I was a boy. You could leave the house, the town, the country. They always knew. There was no place you could escape to. They would take you in your sleep, they would take you in the field, they would take you on the way to school, in the toilet, in the kitchen, take you from your mother's arms ..."

Liam didn't notice how far forward he was leaning on his perch until he felt a hand clasp a fistful of his t-shirt and haul him back. His mother's look was indecipherable.

" _Oupa_ hated it. His whole life they took him. Our whole family, our neighbors—they took everyone. Most of us didn't remember it. Some were taken only once, others—like my grandfather—he couldn't count the number of times. His whole life he knew every single time.

"They couldn't take his memories. Maybe that's why he kept them so _fascinated._ " Rudi spat the word out so hard he had to wipe his sleeve across his mouth.

"In the end, when everyone else was gone, and we had nothing but the walls and the roof over our heads, my grandfather was alive for only two things—resist the Zanla and avenge himself against the _vreemdelinge_.

"They seized our farms, left us in our houses." Rudi put the glass to his mouth and swallowed. "Sometimes we picked bugs from trees, dug grubs up from the dirt. That was alright. You could pay in gold for bread, but you were willing to pay the price."

The picture in Liam's head didn't make sense and he leaned into his father. "The aliens took their farms?"

"No, son. Listen closely."

Rudi's gaze travelled the room, resting on nothing. No one dared interrupt him and tell him to get to the point. Liam sensed the end wasn't that far off.

"It wasn't just us. There were others. Nobody cared: whites, blacks—it didn't matter. We were no better than human garbage. God had already abandoned madmen to a madman.

" _Oupa_ could tolerate the veterans. He said he could at least understand them. The _vreemdelinge,_ no one could understand.

"About ten years ago it started getting worse. They were taking more and more of us at once. _Oupa_ ended up going so many times he called their ships his second country. He said both were hells."

_Why did they stay in a place if they hated it so much?_ _It would be so easy to pack your bags and move on._

Liam wondered how any place on earth could be that bad.

"It ate at him for years. What to do? What to do? Then one day he woke from a vision."

Rudi paused and looked straight into the crowd.

"We made bombs."

All the oxygen got sucked from the room with a collective gasp. Liam's flesh froze. Rudi went on, oblivious to the sudden chill.

"He was a patient man. We waited three years. We gathered up everything we could use, found everyone who would help. He didn't want us children to take part, but he knew none of us had a choice. We wrapped ourselves in explosives. We had one chance to get it right. One chance when we would all be in the same place at the same time ..."

Rudi pressed his palms into his knees. " _Oupa_ must have seen it. Must have known it would work ..."

He was talking but not to them.

"We blew it out of the sky."

He tipped his head back, focussing on the dingy ceiling tiles, his expression full of awe. Liam scanned the spot looking for the fascinating thing which had captured the man's attention.

"I don't know how I'm here. I wasn't supposed to live ..."

Whatever strength Rudi had was gone. He slumped in his chair. He could have come unbundled in a breeze. Liam winced when Dr Scully put a hand on the man's shoulder, fearful he would fall apart in front of them.

The doctor was gentle. "Try to tell us what happened, Rudi."

The eyes that looked at her housed a plea, but for what?

"We were in cattle pens. About thirty of us. It's dark on the ships, and the smell—you battle to keep your guts in. There were others—not just us. Some children, maybe. I heard Shona, Ndebele, English. They didn't know what we were going to do."

Liam heard a sharp inhalation behind him.

Rudi's eyes screwed up. "We sang."

He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling at it.

"There's a song we all know. It doesn't matter what language you speak, you can go anywhere in Africa and people will sing it. We waited for _Oupa_ to start because he knew the time. Knew the hour. _"_

A sheepish expression grew on his face. "We used it to time ourselves. We sang it three times—everyone sang."

He finished with a shrug and a vehement shake of his head. When he wouldn't speak, Liam felt cheated. No way did that story end there. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what happened next.

"Dana?" Liam heard Mrs Scully say, full of worry. The doctor nodded and reached out to Rudi again.

He shuddered. "The third time—' _Rhodesia_.' That was our word. Our warning."

Whippet fast he grabbed her arm with both hands. " _Ek behoort nie hier wees ..._ "

Major Drummond jumped up. "Rudi, son—"

Rudi's hands fell away from the doctor and he stared unseeing across the room.

"I was in light. All around me. I was knocked over. I remember a rushing wind. Screaming. Then waking up. Ash was raining down on my skin. The ground around me was charred. When I stood up I was holding something—this thing like a broken pot but harder. Heavier. And it knew who I was."

Had he heard right? Did Rudi just tell them the thing—whatever the thing was—was alive? Liam looked at his parents. His mother didn't look surprised as much as bemused. His father's looked doubtful.

At a signal from Major Drummond, Mulder reached to a sweater folded in the bench next to him. He removed an object which he handed to the Major. Liam suppressed a sudden shiver and a twinge in his stomach.

The Major balanced the object in the palm of his hand as though he was testing its weight.

"As soon as he was able, Rudi told us of an object he dropped in the desert that he believed to be powerful and alien. We traveled into the desert this morning. We found this not far from where he collapsed."

He raised his arm. Liam strained to see over the shoulders and heads in front of him. It wasn't much to look at: just a bit of broken pot. Disappointed, he sat down, rubbing his stomach to settle it. _Did I eat something bad?_

The Major turned back to Rudi. "Do you know what it is?"

"It's from the ship. I think it saved me. When I woke up, I started walking. Then I ran. It was telling me where to go. It made me go. I carried it for days, weeks. Two, three days ago I lost it. I was in the heat too long. No water. I knew it was close by but I couldn't find it ... I remember being carried. I knew I had to tell someone about the object. It wanted to come here."

Something clicked in Liam's head: the sounds Rudi had been making in the desert—he had been telling them to search for the object.

The Major did not look happy. "How did you get here, Rudi?"

The man looked confused to be asked. "We walked. It didn't want me to stop. If I went the wrong way, my legs were like lead and my head filled with sand. We stowed away on a container ship. I don't remember how. We reached a place—somewhere in South America, I think, and stowed onto another ship. We came north. No one stopped us. I think we came ashore in Mexico. We jumped."

"You see, Rudi," Major Drummond said, "I feel nothing when I hold it in my hands. You're asking us to believe this object save you from a massive explosion, then guided you half way round the world to this place."

The Major allowed his words to sink in. "How is it we haven't heard about this explosion? There's been nothing."

He laid the thing down.

"And you walked away from this explosion, saved you say by a sentient object, which guided you to a ship which happened to sail all the way from South Africa to Mexico where you crossed the border and wandered round our desert for a day looking for us."

Liam wanted to believe Rudi, but laid out like that, he realized the story might be just that—a story. Rudi didn't help, staring down at his knees, his shirt bagging around him.

Help came from an unexpected corner. "He may be telling the truth." Dr Scully looked uncomfortable but she didn't back down when all eyes in the room gravitated to her.

"What do you know about it?" Major Drummond asked.

Dr Scully studied him. As he had weighed the object, she weighed him with her gaze.

"During my work with the FBI, I encountered rubbings—passages from ancient texts in every written language identifiable—taken from the exteriors of two craft. Craft I came to believe were extraterrestrial in origin. The rubbings alone exhibited power. On one occasion I saw a man heal himself holding an object much like Rudi's. He stole it from a cult that worshipped aliens. It was an object believed to have come from an alien spacecraft."

The Major looked like he was swallowing something unpleasant.

"You've never mentioned this before. Are you saying we should believe him?"

She looked at him coolly. "I'm saying his story isn't without precedent."

"He's telling the truth." For a man who hated people, Gibson could turn up the theatrics. He was lounging against the back wall. He hadn't been there at the start; Liam wondered when he slipped in.

"How can you be sure?" Major Drummond said.

"Just as sure as I am that you live in terror of people finding out what happened at Bushwick."

The Major's mouth puckered. "How did you know ..."

Gibson pointed at Rudi. "Same way I know this man isn't lying. Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me."

He surveyed the whole room. " _All_ your secrets are safe with me."

His superiority was grating. Liam didn't get it. Why did all the adults automatically accept everything he said? How did Gibson know things? Why was he so mean to everyone? Why did they allow it?

Gibson hadn't finished.

"He's scared and he's tired and he's given up more than most of you can even imagine and you're treating him like crap. Let's end this charade. We've all heard his story. It happened just the way he told you. Isn't it time we started planning? What we're going to do with him? What we're doing here? What we want to achieve?"

His questions struck home. Grownups were looking at each other and nodding. Major Drummond was compelled to act. He looked down at the foreigner.

"Rudi, we need to discuss what we are going to do. You can't be here for that."

Liam felt sorry for Rudi as Mrs Scully led him from the room, but his pity turned to anger when the children were also evicted.

"This is not a discussion for children," the Major said, watching Liam and his friends file out. They were told to wait in the mess hall. There was no opportunity to slip away; two adults came with them and a head count was taken.

They entertained themselves by complaining about their treatment, filling each other in on their individual punishments, asking the adults about where Rudi was from, and imagining what kind of power the strange pottery object had.

"You should ask Dr Scully about it," Ellie said to Liam. "I don't think she told us everything she knows. I don't think she wanted to say anything at all. Did you see how cagey she looked when Major D picked it up?"

When Liam's parents came to collect him more than an hour later, they were tight-lipped, giving nothing away about the meeting. They reached their quarters and entered wordlessly. Before Liam could sidle into his room, his mother stopped him.

"Tomorrow morning, Liam, you'll be starting school. You will be supervised in class all day and afterwards you're to come straight home—there's to be no more adventures into the desert. Do you understand?"

Liam forced himself to face his parents. It was the moment of reckoning.

"Yes."

He waited for the rest of the speech: the part about how much he had disappointed them, how much more they expected from him.

His father stood with his hands behind his back. "Rudi van der Veldt has been accepted into the camp. Drummond believes the object could be used as a weapon. Dr Scully isn't so sure, but there's no doubt Rudi's human and suffered a lot to get here."

He cleared his throat.

"You probably saved that man's life, Liam. We're not proud of everything you did yesterday, but there's a man in this camp who would have died had it not been for you. That's something he won't forget. Neither will we."


	15. Chapter 15

October, 2011  
New Mexico

An electric silence crackled.

No one moved or seemed to know what to say. Gun at the ready, Eric Hosteen stood taut. Liam's old neighbor eyeballed Dr Scully, and the smile on her face wilted.

A voice called. "Stan? What's going on?"

Liam gaped at his mother. She was off her knees and was approaching their old neighbor and the doctor. "Dana?"

Sal's tongue raked Liam's cheek. Liam's hand lifted to scratch behind her ears, but he didn't take his eyes off what was happening.

Stan was a statue.

After what seemed an eternity, Dr Scully spoke. "Why are you here?"

"To see for myself."

Dr Scully stiffened. "To see _what_ exactly?"

Her gaze pinned him until he gave a half-shake of his head.

"How well you had prepared yourselves. To see if you needed my help."

Mrs van de Kamp inched forward again. "Stan?"

He inclined his head. "Marie."

Something was wrong with Liam's friend; his greeting was too formal—not warm at all—and he wasn't shocked to see them.

Liam swallowed hard and questions flooded his mind. He and his parents didn't talk about it much, but he had never forgotten why they were here. _They_ —the aliens—wanted his father to be a supersoldier. What if they had taken Stan in place of his dad?

Liam's grip tightened around Sal's neck. If Stan was a supersoldier, how had he made it into the camp? Were the scientists wrong? Had the supersoldiers discovered a safe way through the beds of magnetite?

Major Drummond appeared at his mother's side from nowhere. "You know this man, Marie?"

She nodded. "Paul Stanaway. He's been our neighbor for years. I want to know how Dana knows him."

Dr Scully didn't turn to answer. "I know him as Jeremiah Smith. He assisted Mulder and me on several of our investigations. I last saw him in February, 2001."

Gibson had remained at a distance, arms fixed and rigid. His brows, which had been scrunched in concentration, relaxed. He no longer seemed to regard Stan as an immediate threat. "It's safe for you to tell all of it, Scully. He wants them to know."

Dr Scully's fists unclenched at her side.

"Jeremiah Smith is a healer. He can heal people who have been infected with the alien virus. He can heal people because he himself is alien—one of the rebel shapeshifters."

Stan was an alien? That couldn't be right. Stan was, well, Stan. Stan from Bear River, Wyoming, not Mars or Alpha Centauri or deepest, darkest outer space. Besides—he looked human.

_The same way the supersoldiers looked human._

Sal growled in Liam's ear as his hug grew more fierce; supersoldiers terrified him, but until now he'd never thought of them as _alien_. And yet, that's what they half were: half human, half alien.

Dr Scully's voice cut into his thoughts.

"How did you find us?"

Dr Scully may have worked with Stan before, but they can't have been friends. Her hands opened and closed at her sides, she looked ready to spring—yet when she had greeted him, her awe had been plain.

"A hunch. Reason. Luck. Would you believe the dog tracked you from the outskirts of an old mining town on the other side of that range?"

_Sal?_

The doctor's ponytail shook. "You didn't just turn up here. You must have been tracking us for months ... from"—she glanced at Liam's mother—"from Wyoming. The last time I saw you ..."

"You need to hear me."

"He's confident he is not putting the camp at risk, Scully," Gibson said.

Stan tipped his head to his defender. Gibson still looked sour, but there was something else in his face Liam wasn't used to seeing: uncertainty and annoyance.

The Major put his hand on Dr Scully's arm. "Harm's already been done. We might as well hear him out."

She nodded.

"The hall?"

She nodded again. "We wait until Mulder gets here—he can't be far away."

"Of course."

Her shoulders relaxed. "Come with me," she said to Stan, ignoring Liam's mother who had started to remonstrate. Stan walked with Dr Scully through the crowd. With a curt nod, Eric signaled the other guards to follow.

"I'm sure there's an explanation," Liam heard the Major say to his mother just as Ellie dropped down beside him.

"Holy crap, Liam. I thought that dog was gonna tear your throat out. Is he yours?"

"She." He watched his mother stare in the direction Dr Scully had taken Stan, pain etched around her eyes and in the downturn of her mouth. An old, almost forgotten, resentment toward Dr Scully reared in his chest. If anyone had a right to speak to Stan, it was his parents.

Major Drummond was still talking to Liam's mother, but Liam couldn't hear them because his classmates swamped him, keen to meet the Labrador.

Before he could stand up, Mrs Scully interrupted their chatter.

"Mrs van de Kamp's going to be tied up this afternoon. I suggest we make the most of the sunshine and organize some games up here."

She didn't allow them any time to question the arrangement, sending Nick and Aaron off to gather up whatever they could find by way of sports gear. Those left waiting peppered her with questions about Stan, which no one would believe she couldn't answer. (Mrs Scully had a lot in common with the van de Kamps: she wasn't a scientist and had confessed to Liam's mother she knew very little about the work her daughter had done for so long.)

As she scratched Sal's chin, Ellie eyed the retreating adults with suspicion. "More secrets."

Liam nodded. "And I'm going to find out what."

He had a right to know. Stan was his friend. He had been a part of Liam's life for as long as Liam could remember. What Stan didn't know about animals wasn't worth knowing—and he'd passed on some of that knowledge to Liam. Stan had laughed at the rumors saying he was like a horse whisperer—only better—but everyone knew he had a gift.

 _The same way people say_ I _have a gift._

The sneaky voice in Liam's head made him uncomfortable. His mind raced as he stood; he wouldn't allow anyone to brush him off this time.

"Mrs Scully, I think I should get some things for Sal. I'll bet she's really thirsty. Me and Ellie can find some stuff real quick."

Mrs Scully's mouth crimped as though she wanted a polite way to say no. Between Sal's loud panting and Liam's unwavering stare she relented.

"Fine. But I expect you back once you get the dog sorted."

They made their way downstairs to the kitchen where the cook took one look at Sal and shooed them out. Liam and Sal waited in the corridor outside the mess hall for Ellie to return with a large bowl of water and a bone.

"It's all the cook could spare," she said. "He said come back later. I hope your friend brought plenty of dog food with him."

Sal whimpered at the sight of the water.

"Now what do we do?"

"I have to hear what Stan has to say."

"How?"

They had one chance: a small utility room at the back of the hall where his mother stored school supplies. Liam had scouted out the room as a listening post several days after Rudi van der Veldt's dramatic arrival. The room had two doors; one opened into the big hall; the other, onto a hallway.

If he and Ellie got the inner door ajar, they might be able to listen in.

He outlined his plan to Ellie.

"Dr Scully said the meeting would start when Mulder arrived. We'll wait here ten more minutes."

They decided they would draw less attention if they waited in the mess hall. They slipped through the swing doors and set the bowl on the floor where Sal lapped the water with vigor. Backs to the wall, Liam and Ellie slid down onto the cracked linoleum floor, keeping out a watchful eye for the cook.

"Scully said that man was a shapeshifter," Ellie said.

"Yeah."

"I've heard my parents talking about shapeshifters. They can make themselves look like anything or anyone."

Once upon a time, not so long ago, Liam would have laughed at the suggestion. It wasn't so long ago he used to know—not just think but _know—_ he was smart. These days all he seemed to be learning was how much he didn't know.

When they had been feeling especially daring (and when no adults were around to monitor their internet use), they had researched pictures of aliens online. The images ranged from friendly-looking Grays, with their huge fly-bulb eyes, to razor-jawed monsters from horror movies. As far as Liam knew, no one had seen a proper alien—which was weird, considering that's who they were at war with. Even listening to Mulder and Dr Scully left him confused because they didn't always seem to agree on certain details.

"What's he like? Your neighbor?"

How could he be expected to answer this question when it was now obvious he had known nothing important about Stan?

"I guess I don't know anymore." He picked at a peeling edge of the linoleum. "Mom says I was the first person to call him Stan. I remember him helping Dad build a barn. I had a kid's tool belt with a little plastic hammer when I was small—Mom's got ... Mom _had_ a photo. I'd put the belt on and say I was going to help my friend Stan. After I started calling him that, the name sort of stuck."

He wondered what had happened to that photo.

What kind of alien picks up nails and a hammer, or pitches in with the harvest? "This is weird," he said.

Ellie flashed a sympathetic smile, and they stopped talking until Sal lifted her head from the bowl and Liam knew it was time to go.

He patted his dog. "I can't wait to hear your story."

They crept from the mess hall on the tips of their toes, peering down the corridor one way and then the other.

The passageways had been empty, but their hearts were galloping by the time they scurried into the utility room. As Liam had hoped, from the hum of noise it sounded like every adult who could be there was already in the hall. The utility room—more like a large closet—was stacked high with chairs and shelves. Sal at his side, Liam tip-toed to the far door, careful not to brush against anything that might clatter or squeak.

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Sit, Sal."

He wasn't worried she'd give their position away. She knew exactly what he wanted. She stretched out on the floor against a shelf and cocked her head. Her tail let out a tiny wag; when Liam glared, she gave him a dog grin and it stilled.

With Ellie just behind him, Liam screwed up his face as he eased the door open.

_Don't click don't click._

His heart almost gave out at the tell-tale metallic ping. He froze, expecting the door to be pulled wide. When nothing happened, he exhaled and became aware of two things: the meeting had already started, and someone was stifling a coughing fit.

He didn't dare open the door enough to see the adults. When the coughing petered out, Liam identified Dr Scully's voice.

"—time I saw you, the night we found Mulder dead, was just before you disappeared into a blaze of light. _They_ found you. They took you back. How can you expect us to trust you?"

Her fraught voice—its desperation—reminded him of that long-ago scene in his living room in Wyoming when she and Mulder had ordered them out of the house.

"It's too late for that, Scully. We'll deal with whatever happens." That sounded like Mr Skinner.

There was no mistaking the next voice; Liam had grown up with it. "It's right for you to be wary. I _am_ dangerous."

Liam wished he could see Stan's face. It was hard to believe what he was hearing. He edged down onto his hands and knees, making room for Ellie to put her head close to the gap too.

"I _was_ taken. I could easily be taken again. But not yet."

Liam flinched when the next person spoke. Mulder was very loud and close. _Very_ close.

"These people are going to need more than your best guess, Jeremiah. What they'd really like is answers. They need to understand."

"There is _no_ understanding it," Stan said. "I was taken because I disobeyed. I was taken and reconditioned. When I was no longer a threat, I left and did not return. For a decade I have hidden myself, concealing and limiting my sedition, and watching. I have not been retaken because my actions have not been considered a risk. And because my actions are not considered a risk, I have not been thought of. Can you understand that?"

 _No._ Try as he might, Liam struggled to make sense of his neighbor.

Mr Skinner took a stab. "You're saying they just let you go? You work against them, they recapture you, they recondition—was that the word you used?—they recondition you, then they let you go?"

"I let myself go. I was no longer a threat. I was considered obedient and my obedience was not questioned. That's how they made us to be."

Major Drummond spluttered. "That's ridiculous. You were a traitor. You expect us to believe they just let you go. How do you know they haven't been keeping tabs on you all this time? Just waiting for you to do what you've just done? Expose our camp?"

Stan's reply was stark.

"Your government men, your conspirators would not understand your enemy. That was their mistake. It will be yours, too."

"Then make them understand." Gibson's challenge rang through the hall.

Breath caught in Liam's throat.

"I know I can't stay here." Stan's voice dropped. "I was careful not to track directly to this place, and while I've traveled, I've encountered and healed other abductees. That's how I've tried to help. But abductee numbers are increasing and my hand in their recovery won't be secret much longer. And soon even that won't be enough. The symptoms of infection have changed and most abductees now don't realize they've been kidnapped, let alone that they've been exposed to the virus. The near-death sickness we discovered in returnees a decade ago now presents itself as a severe flu. Those infected recover, but the virus is not killed—it's merely dormant. Those who do not realize they have been abducted return home none-the-wiser. I have no idea what triggers reactivation, but that's when irreversible mutation occurs. That's when the human body starts to change.

"I can heal those in the interim stage—but once the final change begins, there's nothing I can do. The human body no longer recognizes itself. There may be thousands of people out there now carrying the dormant virus."

Liam shuddered. That could have happened to his father.

"That may be, Jeremiah, but your being here—you understand that concerns us?" Mr Skinner said.

"You're safe for the time being. This area is feared, and the reborn put themselves at risk entering this territory."

"The reborn? Supersoldiers, you mean?"

"You're safe from them. They're curious about this area—but not because they suspect you are here. It's the ones like me—the ones you call the bounty hunters—you need to watch for. There are few of us left, but still—you must be vigilant."

"Don't you worry about that." The Major's confidence was probably bluster. "You said you could help us? How?"

"As Scully said: I have healing skills."

"Jeremiah, you heal returned abductees," Dr Scully said. "There are abductees in this room, but as far as we know most here haven't been exposed to the virus. What they need—what we have always needed—is a vaccine. We've been trying to develop one—can your abilities help with that?"

"No."

The whole room seemed to sigh.

"I heal bodies, Agent Scully. Human frailty is not an illness. It can not be healed."

"Maybe there's some other way you can help us?" Major Drummond said.

"Anyway I can."

Liam recognised Rudi by his accent. "Why now? Why not ten, twenty years ago?"

It was an accusation, bitter and angry. A low mumbling of agreement and the shift and shuffle of people moving uncomfortably on the wooden seats echoed through the room.

Stan was not intimidated. "Very few wanted to hear the message—"

Gibson cut in. "He wants to be of use so you'll trust him."

"Is there any reason why we should believe him?" Mr Skinner said.

There was a shrug in Gibson's tone. "He _thinks_ he's telling the truth."

Rudi's next question struck a chord with Liam. "How about weapons? Maybe he knows what'll kill those bastards?"

Liam hadn't thought about it, but a weapon—something better than a gun—sounded like a good idea. From what he had seen, bullets didn't look like they'd have much effect against a supersoldier.

"I can give you the best weapon there is." Liam heard the adults draw a collective breath. "I can help you know the face of your enemy."

_That's a weapon?_

"Aren't you the face of our enemy? Underneath it all, you even look like a Gray, don't you? Back of the neck, right, Scully?" Gibson called out sharply just as the room erupted into screeches of chairs scraping the floor.

Liam clapped his hands over his ears. Men and women were yelling. Whatever he had done, Gibson had thrown the room into chaos.

Over the din, Liam heard his mother. "Stop! Stop!"

He couldn't help himself; he pushed the door out further and risked poking his head around the corner. Ellie pushed at his side and ducked under his arm. It did them little good; most of the adults were on their feet. All they could see was a forest of legs and backs.

Liam's mother tried again. "I know this man. He's lived next door to me for nearly ten years. He's worked with my husband. At least hear him out."

The cacophony, as bad as fingernails on an old blackboard, filled the room as people took to their seats again.

Liam nearly jumped out of his skin when the door pressed into his arm. Ellie swallowed a yelp and Liam tensed, waiting for the embarrassment of being caught out. Nothing happened. The door was still open, jammed against Liam's elbow. A pair of jeans stood on the other side.

The door nudged him again like a warning and Liam scrambled back. He exchanged a look with Ellie, who gave a little shrug.

"Can you put that away, please, Gibson?" Liam heard Dr Scully say. She sounded pissed off.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can."

"Care to explain yourself?"

"He hates them." Gibson's voice dripped with glee. "He doesn't want you to know how much he hates them, but he hates them—the same way I hate them."

For some reason Dr Scully was not happy. "I see."

"You never know. I might end up liking this thing one day," Gibson said, back to normal: all arrogance and spite.

"So there was a point to that little display? I'd like to know where you even got one of those."

"Can I see that?" the Major asked. "Is this one of the stilettos Mulder described?"

There was a pause in the conversation, and Liam guessed Gibson was showing him something. If the legs hadn't been guarding the door, he might have risked looking again.

"Yes, there was a point," Gibson said. "I was testing him. I can read his mind. That doesn't mean I trust what I read. Being compared with them—the Grays— _you_ couldn't see it, but for a second he wanted to tear my throat out just for suggesting—"

The Major interrupted. "So he's dangerous?"

"Sure—just not to us."

This seemed to pacify the Major. The tone of his voice softened. "I'm curious as to why you've been living next to the van de Kamps all this time. Surely that's not coincidence?"

 _This_ was what Liam wanted to hear.

"Sometimes peculiar things do happen, coincidences," Stan said.

"Is that what you're saying it was?"

"It was one of the safest places for me. A small community with close social ties. I've spent the last nine years laying low, traveling intermittently to returnee camps, and making sure I did nothing to draw attention to my base."

"You knew _nothing_ about the supersoldiers' interest in Harry van de Kamp?" the Major asked.

"That the reborn have any interest in Harry van de Kamp comes as a surprise to me. When their house was raided, I believed I was responsible. That I had been discovered and had inadvertently led the reborn to the van de Kamps. I didn't realize until too late that the FBI agents visiting Harry and Marie were Mulder and Scully. In fact, I had reason to believe Mulder was dead."

Liam knew Mulder and Dr Scully's work for the FBI had been dangerous; he hadn't realized _how_ exciting those jobs were. How and when had Mulder nearly died? He wondered how he might raise the topic in conversation.

"Scully saved me. Minutes before you were taken, my body was discovered. She found a way to beat the virus."

It was Mulder standing in front of the door; he _had_ to know Liam was there. Did he want Liam to hear?

"What happened after we left the van de Kamps' house, Jeremiah?"

"I watched the reborn leave. There were too many for me to deal with by myself. When I saw smoke, I ran inside but I couldn't find anyone.

"I didn't know you and Harry had already been rescued, Marie. I thought ... I feared for you."

Liam felt Ellie's hand squeeze his.

"The fire department never found any bodies. I waited while they searched, but I already knew there was still hope. Sal was fitting in her kennel; she had something to tell me."

Liam quirked his head. Was Stan's ability with animals something to do with him being alien? That made sense.

"By good luck and divine grace Sal and I were able to track you across country. I knew those fighting the reborn would seek areas rich in magnetite veins to build strongholds."

Stan stopped, letting them digest his story. There was a lot to take in. Someone coughed again.

Of everyone, no one could have more questions than his parents. His mother couldn't disguise her incredulity. "Stan, are you saying Sal tracked us from Wyoming to here?"

But her question was lost as others started demanding answers.

"How are you going to help us?"

"Do you know _how_ to make the vaccine?"

" _How_ do we fight?"

"Who exactly is our enemy?"

Someone—probably the Major—must have motioned the end of the barrage. The room went silent so Stan could respond.

"You pay a courtesy that is not reciprocated."

The door dug once more into Liam's arm. Mulder leaned on it as two more pairs of legs walked by. Liam heard a mutter. "Great. An enigmatic alien: my favorite."

This was accompanied by a snort. "Is there any other kind?"

The new voices were muffled but familiar: Toby and Alan.

The underhand comments would not have been heard at the other end of the hall.

Anyway the Major was more interested in Stan's peculiar remark. "Pardon?"

"Your enemy does not call you enemy."

 _Not helping, Stan_ , Liam wanted to tell his friend.

"So? What do they call us?"

Liam wondered if Stan's pause was a deliberate ploy for dramatic effect.

"Energy."

"Energy?"

"Some of this you must know: Mulder and Scully uncovered much of it more than a decade ago when an alien craft was pulled from the sea in Africa."

"The etchings Scully made," Mulder called out. "The ship was inscribed with religious texts. The etchings themselves proved to be power—"

"A human blueprint," Dr Scully said. "Evolution—that's what you're talking about, isn't it?"

"You owe the little Gods your lives," Stan replied. "There was already life on this planet—that came long before the little Gods—but you wouldn't be you without cultivation. You were made the perfect crop. You were fruitful and multiplied. You grew yourselves, tended yourselves and strove to better your vine. The little God vintners had only to sit back and watch. A farmer knows when to harvest. Picking too soon is wasteful; left too long fruit rots.

"You were made to be the perfect crop. You were designed to want to perfect the efficiency of your own lives.

"But what has made you successful has also made you vulnerable.

"Your civilization is poised to go two ways. The fuel upon which you built your empire is diminishing. There is fundamental science you have not grasped yet. If you don't, you risk a new dark age. Collapse. Regression. But if you do grasp it, your technology will leap forward.

"The little Gods want neither. You are perfect to them now. You are in abundance, you are organized, you are the best the vine has to offer. Your success can be used against you.

"The little Gods are here to thresh, reap and store. You are to be the fuel on which a new great empire is built—the fuel on which a new great mission is launched."

 _That_ didn't sound good. Ellie's nails dug into the flesh on Liam's arm. He turned and saw his own alarm mirrored in her face.

The students didn't seem as concerned.

"So, they want to put us on the menu? Wait—I think I've seen this movie." Toby hadn't moved far from the door.

Someone—probably Alan—snorted.

Ever since his life had been turned upside down in August, Liam had grown used to hearing words like "colonization," "alien" and "supersoldier." He knew what was happening somehow amounted to an invasion—and he'd read enough books and watched enough movies (sometimes without his parents' knowledge) to know the most popular reasons to invade Earth included an inexplicable (to the humans, anyway) need to exterminate earthlings, a desire to enslave humans, or a plan to harvest the population for food. Unless, of course, they were the Borg. Grotesque though the _Star Trek_ aliens had been, Liam had some sympathy for their motive—he liked the idea of collecting knowledge. Their idea was good—just not the way they went about it. Why couldn't an invading alien force be a kinder, curious Borg-like race, keen on sharing their intellect with the universe?

"It's never been that simple." Liam nearly laughed—it was like Stan had picked the thought out of his head.

"The same forces that are shaping you now, shaped me and my brothers thousands of years ago. We still do not know why. The little Gods have an urge to push forward, a loneliness and singleness of purpose we do not understand."

There was pain in his voice. "What happened to your people, Stan?"

Trust his mother to ask that. Whoever— _whatever_ —Stan was, Marie van de Kamp still hadn't crossed him off her Christmas card list.

"We who remain are few—ours was the last harvest, Marie. Once _we_ were the reborn. This is what the little Gods do. Before us, there were others.

"No race of reborn is ever the same, it seems, except in one respect: just as they make us powerful, they make sure we are powerfully enslaved. I can change form"—the room released a singular gasp of astonishment, and Liam almost whimpered in his longing to see what was happening—"I know the memory of particles, can re-order atoms. I share blood with the little Gods. I even look like them when I cannot control myself.

"But I cannot escape them.

"Our numbers have dwindled, and as we age the ties about our necks are loosened. The power to compel me is no longer what it once was—and we have freedoms your reborn do not have. We govern ourselves and always have. The older we've grown, the more our bonds have chafed.

"Mistakes were made with our generation of reborn. We are divided into those who follow at the heel of our masters—because that is all we know—and those who long to know the freedom of a free death.

"Because of _our_ dissension, the little Gods won't allow your reborn the same freedom. We had some autonomy to govern ourselves as long as it fitted the purpose of our masters; these supersoldiers have much less—a hive mind will override their individuality.

"We are all servants and soldiers. In changing us irrevocable damage was done. The damage was deliberate and binds us to the little Gods for as long as they will drag us across the heavens in pursuit of a goal they do not share or care to explain.

"I was made well and treated indifferently. All we are required to do is follow the compulsions put upon us. But we were not made perfectly—and the same flaws will be stitched into your reborn. We have no children. We can reproduce ourselves imperfectly, but the effort is not simple or without cost. We have come as far as we can go; we will not last much longer. The little Gods know it and still they will not let us go. It's time for a new harvest. Through you, the little Gods will further themselves."

That didn't sound so bad. Stan said he was a servant or a soldier, yet he'd still been able to go away and live next door to Liam for a decade. There seemed to be an element of choice in his life. Had the humans really stopped and thought about the situation? Were the Grays really that bad? Liam rolled his shoulders. He'd been on his hands and knees so long a crick had developed in his neck.

"When you said the supersoldiers were essentially a hive mind"—you could hear the cogs turning in Major Drummond's head—"what did you mean? Is there a queen?"

"I've definitely seen this movie," Toby deadpanned.

"A queen? No. Not a queen ..."

"Well, what then?"

"The servants of the little Gods have never been allowed to see the design, but we have beliefs ... scriptures"—he hesitated over the word—"ways to comprehend the actions of our masters.

"With this generation of the reborn we believe the Little Gods plan to create a being, a conduit or a bridge between themselves and their servants. They made a mistake with the bounty hunters: we are all equal—and individual—that makes us harder to control. This time we believe the Little Gods plan to create something far more powerful than a servant—something more frightening—an ultimate supersoldier. Someone who is almost their equal. Someone who will eventually have total control over the reborn—a Commander, if you will."

"Who? A human?" The Major fired out the words.

"I don't know."

"Gibson?"

"His thoughts are strange to me, Major," Gibson said, a curious catch in his voice. "He doesn't _think_ it's anybody in _this_ room—"

Measured footsteps started moving about the hall. "But maybe ..."

Blood started roaring in Liam's ears. The footsteps were getting closer. Liam didn't have to see into the room to know it was Gibson and he was moving closer. While reading Stan's thoughts, had he somehow "heard" Liam's? Gibson would delight in exposing him. Liam stiffened. The legs in front of Liam straightened and the footsteps stopped.

Liam hung onto his breath until Gibson spoke again.

"No ... That's just his own confusion," Gibson said, almost as if he were talking only to himself. "Sorry, Major. He doesn't know much about this figure."

The Major pressed on anyway. "Is this _Commander_ the weakness you can show us? The face of our enemy?"

"That's not what I was thinking of," Stan said as if he was pondering the idea. "There's much we can only guess about the plan—"

The Major wouldn't let go the topic.

"Does this _Commander_ already exist? If we know who _he_ is, we can destroy him—it. Prevent it from taking control, throw the supersoldiers into disarray. Is that what would happen?" he asked eagerly. Liam could imagine the cogs in the Major's brain clicking round.

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea—"

But the murmurs rising in the hall disagreed.

"It could be our best chance," the Major said in a rush. "It could be our _only_ chance. You must have some idea who this person is!"

Stan almost growled as if he was struggling to say the words. "We think the Commander will arise December 22 next year."

Someone whistled.

"The day of colonization," Mr Skinner said.

"Jeremiah, speaking plainly, why did the Grays come here? Can they be reasoned with? Is their mission so incompatible with human values that there's no way we can fully communicate with them?"

A hush fell on the room when Mr Skinner finished.

Stan's heavy sigh carried to the back of the room. "They do not believe you are talking."

"That's ludicrous. How can they not believe we're talking?" Mr Skinner said in frustration. "We've been negotiating with them for years."

Toby's next comment was loud enough for everyone to hear. "Wasn't all that conspiracy stuff _because_ some governments were colluding with the aliens?"

"You are cattle in the field."

A chill passed through Liam. The adults were speechless—except for Toby, who let out an irreverent, long and low cattle call.

The totally inappropriate sound effect set off a stutter of choking. Ellie wore an incensed glare on her face. Liam had the impression that sometimes the students didn't take their situation seriously enough.

Up until now Eric Hosteen had stayed out of the interrogation, but something in Stan's explanation stirred him. "Why cultivate us, why give us the seeds of religion, if they thought us no better than animals?"

"The little Gods did not put the messages on those ships."

"Then who did?" Dr Scully asked.

"The messages were handed down to my brothers from the reborn who came before us—or before them. We believe they are older than the little Gods."

"Do they mean anything to you? To them?"

Liam wondered what they meant by messages—and what they were.

"Some we both understand. Others, we both do not. We do not know what the little Gods know."

"If the Grays don't talk to you, how do you know anything about them? Do they consider you animals as well?"

With Gibson on hand there was nothing Stan could keep secret.

"Yeah, the bounty hunters travel interstellar cattle class." There was an element of bored cruelty in his pronouncement.

Liam winced in discomfort for Stan, but if his old neighbor was rattled by Gibson he didn't show it.

"You train dogs to do what you want; do they speak back to you?" Stan said. He took a moment to recollect himself. "Inferences may be drawn from actions. You say you know little about your enemy; you know more than you realize. How long has your Government been aware of an alien presence?"

"Since the crash at Roswell or before. Since the nineteen forties, at least," Mulder said.

"Ask yourselves: given a belief of superiority and a superior technology, why has it taken so long for this takeover to happen?"

He was met with silence.

"This is a stealth takeover. Why?" Liam itched to sneak a look into the hall again. He could hear the challenge—the stare—in Stan's questions. His old neighbor would be facing them all down.

"A superior hand with superior numbers has no need to hide in the shadows."

Mulder shifted, taking a step away from the door.

"They're afraid," he said. "That's it, isn't Jeremiah? They're afraid of something."

"What?" several voices asked.

"Does it matter?" Stan said. "Don't you now know the most important thing you can ever know about an enemy?"

Liam held his breath, waiting for a response.

"They're afraid of us." Wonder filled Mulder's voice. "Their numbers are few. We out number them and that makes them afraid of us."

"That's what we believe."

Beside him, Ellie sat back on her knees. She was frowning and Liam guessed she was disappointed at the revelation. He felt the same way; he didn't see how Stan's information helped them at all. They weren't the only ones to fail to see the good of it.

"Unless we know how to fight them, the psychological advantage of their fear isn't going to do us much good," a scientist said.

"Not necessarily." An inkling of possibility stirred in Major Drummond's voice. "Jeremiah, can you fight a supersoldier?"

"What are you getting at, Drummond?" Mr Skinner asked.

"Jeremiah Smith says he wants to help us know who our enemy is. Jeremiah Smith tells us our enemy fears us. Jeremiah Smith tells us one being, this _Commander,_ will have total control of a super force of alien soldiers."

The atmosphere had grown tense and expectant.

"Don't you see?" Liam could hear the Major's smile. "Gibson's been right all along: it's time we started fighting back. And Jeremiah Smith can help us do that."

"How?" Rudi van der Veldt asked the question for everyone.

"Jeremiah Smith is going to capture us a supersoldier."


	16. Chapter 16

October, 2011  
New Mexico

The adults wouldn't stop talking. Men and women were speaking then shouting over the top of one another, and they were getting louder and louder, and faster and faster.

"Silence!" the Major bellowed. "People, please!"

His plan to capture a supersoldier had ignited whoops of support and cries of horror. Everyone had something to say about it, and from the sound of it a lot of people were very unhappy. And frightened.

It made perfect sense to Liam. It was so simple—and so daring—he wondered why no one had thought of it before now. Instinctively, he knew they should consider the plan, but it raised questions. If they did manage to catch a supersoldier, what would they do with it? Where would they put it?

He wasn't the only one asking. When the Major brought the hall back under control, those who had doubts were quick to express them. Liam recognized one of Eric's companions—Cooper, the man who let him watch the female supersoldier disintegrate—by his deep voice.

"Have you even seen one of those things in action? You'll get us all killed."

Another voice called out. "What are we supposed to do with it if we capture one?"

Others were blunter. "You're insane, Drummond. We're not soldiers ... you're not even a soldier! You're a freakin' minister for the Salvation Army!"

The Major cleared his throat.

"We are not soldiers," he said meditatively, as if he was testing the thought.

"We are not soldiers?" This time it was definitely a question.

Suddenly his voice boomed. "We. Are. Soldiers."

Liam could imagine him sizing up each and every person on the other side of the door.

"And we have all chosen to be soldiers." He took on a sense of urgency.

"When you packed up your city lives, your desk jobs, your lecture halls and pharmaceutical labs, you made your first stand. Think you are a doctor, a biologist, a student, a garbage collector? Wrong! Think you are a researcher, a cleaner, a mother, a father? Think again. You are all soldiers and you know a battle is looming.

"Did you come here to hide? To find a safe place where you could hole up while the world beyond the false safety of this keep goes to hell?

"Did you come here to save yourself? Save your children? No. You came here because you answered a call you knew was impossible to ignore.

"You—no!—WE must be the soldiers. We must be the weapons.

"Those with knowledge bear the responsibility. Don't talk to me about fairness, about choices, about how you're just not cut out for this.

"You want a choice? Choose not to be a soldier! Go home. No one will think any the less of you. There will be no one to think of you.

"We are soldiers. And we must be ruthless."

Tiny hairs on Ellie's arms had popped up. What did the Major mean "be ruthless?"

No one had spoken, so Major Drummond went on.

"This man has given us something to work with." He was now softer, appealing for calm and reason. "Should we trust him? You tell me. I'm not suggesting we shouldn't be careful or circumspect. But I do think this man presents us with an opportunity we ignore at our peril."

His final word soaked into the silence.

"So how would this plan work?" Mr Skinner was giving the idea serious thought. "Can you even fight a supersoldier, Jeremiah?"

There was a long, tense silence. "Yes."

A sigh broke across the hall.

"Yes, it's possible. It won't be easy."

"So what if he can capture one?" Cooper asked. "Isn't the real question what are we going to do with it if we do catch it? How are we going to keep it there? What do we want it for?"

The man didn't attempt to disguise his unease, but at least his questions were sensible.

"Are there plans to be made, doubts to be assuaged, risks to take?" Major Drummond asked. "Of course! But if what Jeremiah said is true, the captured supersoldier might be used to lead us to this ultimate soldier. And if we can take out their major player—that could be an unexpected coup. One I doubt they'd see coming. I think that's worth a shot. Don't you?"

There was still plenty of resistance to the idea.

A voice Liam didn't recognize jumped in. "You're working on some pretty large assumptions. For argument's sake, say we do destroy this ultimate soldier—what's to stop them just creating another one?"

"Does that matter yet?" another person responded. "I'm more interested in how anyone in their right mind thinks we can control a supersoldier—let alone find some place to hold it. Even if we wanted, we couldn't keep it here. As much as I wouldn't want it near the camp, it'd be equally dangerous keeping the thing at a distance—just supposing we could control it."

Chairs scraped against the floor. The discussion was going on like a soccer match; the ball had just been lobbed back to the Major, who was ready.

"As to that, I believe Dr Scully may have discovered a solution—"

Liam had been listening so intently he didn't notice the door pushing into his shoulder. He looked up in surprise. Mulder bent low pretending to tighten his laces.

"You two better get back to your classmates. If Mrs Scully sends out the search party, I doubt I'll be able to save you." He didn't sound angry. "Try to keep this all under wraps, okay? I know I can trust you, Liam."

Liam felt a gentle pressure on his arm as Mulder leaned against the door again. He knew better than to argue. He and Ellie retreated into the storeroom and the spring in the lock pinged. He stretched, working a knot out of his neck.

"Do you think we should stay and listen some more?" he said.

He looked up when Ellie didn't respond. She was staring at him, unsettling Liam with the intensity of her gaze.

"What?"

"I don't get it," she said, a frown pulling on her lip.

"Don't get what?"

"You. Your family." Her eyes bore into him. "What's so special about you?"

Her mouth puckered. For Ellie, not knowing an answer was as distasteful as sucking a lemon.

He shrugged. "Dunno. I know I'm lucky to be here. But so's everyone else."

"You can be really dense sometimes, Liam. Who saved Rudi van der Veldt's life by breaking our most important rule—and didn't get punished? Who gets special attention from the most famous alien-fighters ever? Whose dog leads a man thousands of miles across the desert in search of her family? Whose neighbor is a rebel alien who's been living next to him all his life? Who got chased by supersoldiers? Whose father is especially wanted by the supersol—"

She blinked. Liam waited for her to finish but her mouth stuck shut. She had a point. Several, in fact. Still, he had to put up some sort of argument.

"It's just coincidence—like Stan said."

The sneer of her lip told him what she thought of that suggestion. She twiddled a strand of hair. Then she got a funny look in her eyes.

"Liam, the supersoldiers want your dad, right?"

"Yeah. I think Mulder said they had a list of people who'd make really good supersoldiers because of their genes or something."

"If your dad is genetically perfect to be a supersoldier. Could you be as well?"

He laughed, making Ellie tip her head to one side. "It's funny how I forget," he said when he saw her quizzical expression.

"Forget what?"

"I suppose I could become a supersoldier—but not because of Dad."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm adopted."

Ellie's eyes went wide and she sucked in a breath. "I didn't know that."

"It's not meant to be a secret or anything," he said.

"You never said."

It annoyed him that she looked so hurt. It was none of her business after all. It wasn't like he had to tell her.

"I was adopted when I was eight months old."

Since it truly didn't matter, he supposed it wouldn't hurt to explain a little.

"I don't know who my birth parents are—or were. I've always had this feeling my birth father is dead, and Mom and Dad say my birth mother gave me up because she wanted me to have a better life. I've lived with them ever since."

"Oh." Ellie leaned forward to pat Sal, who had not stirred since they entered the room.

"What about that stuff about Sal? About how she found us and all."

Liam shook his head.

"Stan's like an animal doctor—not a vet or anything—but everyone in Tessa knew if your pets had a problem and the doctor was too far away, Stan could usually help you. He knows how to calm animals down." His shoulders slumped. "Maybe he can talk to animals because he's alien."

It was hard to shake the feeling he had lost a friend today.

"But Stan didn't find us, Liam. He said Sal led him here."

"That's crazy. Sal's never even been here before. How would she know the way—or even that we were here?"

Ellie's smile was triumphant. "Exactly! Don't you see? Gibson would have known if Stan was lying about anything and he would have said so ... but Gibson didn't say anything. Stan wasn't lying. Your dog led him here—not the other way round. Do you know what that means?"

She stood up and her grin grew wider when he shook his head. "We have our very own, real-life x-file!"

Mulder had explained to him what an x-file was weeks ago. Liam knew it had something to do with investigating crimes that involved paranormal things like vampires and mind-reading. He'd thought it rude at the time to point out that monsters and ghosts didn't exist; and since he'd seen supersoldiers in action, he had to admit maybe there was room in the universe for a bit of weirdness. Still, although Stan managing to find the camp with the aid of Sal was incredible, he failed to see how it was an x-file. For one thing, there was no crime involved. Ellie waved it off when he pointed that out.

"That's not the point, Liam. The point is we are playing a game. You can be Scully, and I get to be Mulder."

He stared at her, trying unsuccessfully to decide if she was playing a joke on him. He'd played make-believe before—in third grade.

She shrugged. "My therapist says role-play is healthy."

"Your what?"

"You are so country, Liam."

"Whatever." It was a retort he'd heard one of the students use.

She scowled. "My father says people who say 'whatever' are really disrespectful."

It was going to be easier to humor her. "Fine, then. But don't you think I should at least get to be Mulder?"

"It's not about who gets to be the guy and who gets to be the girl. Mom told me what made Mulder and Scully so famous in the first place was that Mulder believed the weird stuff and Scully was hired to prove him wrong. She was all scientific and everything. That's more you than it is me."

"How do you know everything about them anyway?"

"How come you don't know?"

He refused to let her needling irritate him and reminded himself that he knew everything he needed to know about Mulder and Dr Scully because they'd told him—personally. When he'd explained the x-files to Liam and his parents, Mulder had also told them how he came to believe in extraterrestrials and ESP; about how he'd had a sister and she'd been abducted when she was little; about how he'd been hypnotized years later and suddenly remembered it was aliens that had taken her. From that moment on he'd devoted his life to solving unusual crimes.

Ellie approached her role-playing seriously. It was all she would talk about for the next few weeks and she spent much of her free time making props to make the game "more realistic." Liam wanted very badly to laugh when she showed him the ID cards and tinfoil badges she'd made. She'd even managed to find a small magnifying glass and tweezers which she said they needed to pick up their evidence. In her mind they were solving a real mystery.

Liam didn't mind; her investigation amounted to nothing more than an internet search on psychic pets (which offered tantalizing but unsubstantiated claims about dog powers) and an afternoon where she made Liam hide around camp and had Sal "find" him. He knew Sal thought the game was as silly as he did, but they both played along. After Sal located Liam for a fourth time and Ellie was ready to start her victory dance, Liam pointed out that Sal was probably just following his scent. Liam didn't want to admit it was kind of fun—in a silly way.

Anyway, it provided a useful distraction from the nervous air that was pervading the camp. The adults were sharper than usual. Even Mrs Scully snapped once or twice when she was helping out in the classroom.

It was easy to understand. They were going to go ahead with the Major's plan. Liam knew they would—the same way he also knew many people were still upset. Even the usually jovial young students wore tight, grim expressions when they came to help with classes.

Ellie's obsession for her x-file made up for another thing too: Stan was no longer his friend. Not really.

His old neighbor had brushed off his attempts to say anything more than hello and never stayed long when Liam was around.

Stan couldn't completely avoid his parents—his dad was in on the plan to hunt a supersoldier (which Liam wasn't supposed to know about)—but even they had stopped calling him Stan.

When it became apparent Stan was determined not to talk to him, Liam had stopped talking about him, which seemed to relieve his parents. At first Liam was confused by their reaction. Although Stan had been their friend too, they seemed to be pretending nothing strange was going on.

And that was the problem—none of them seemed willing to discuss how or why Stan was here. Liam wanted to believe it was just coincidence, but there were still too many unanswered questions.

Liam scratched his cheek. That was another strange thing. Was it just coincidence that he'd called his frog Jerry?

One person who was unusually happy was Gibson. Whatever planning was going on, Gibson, with Rudi van der Veldt, was in the thick of it. Instead of hanging back and avoiding the throngs in the mess hall, Gibson was now at the center of the action—and he was spending a lot of time with Stan.

Liam gave up trying to catch Stan's eye. His old neighbor was never around. Stan refused to sleep on site (for their own safety) and often disappeared for days. Frequently when he returned he brought more refugees, including some who had come from overseas. When Stan did arrive back in camp, he would be pulled aside by Mulder, or Gibson or Mr Skinner, and their heads would go together and they would get secretive looks on their faces and peer around suspiciously when one of them spoke too loud.

Liam had been ditched for Gibson.

One evening three weeks after Sal brought Stan to the camp, as Liam was preparing for bed, his father knocked on the sliding door that connected their tiny living space to his room. Liam looked at his father's dark clothing and grim face and knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Dad?"

His father gave him a fleeting smile. "Just wanted to see you before I left. Thought Sal might like to stretch her legs in the desert tonight."

His dad had been on night shift all week. Tonight was different though. As soon as he'd finished dinner, he'd left Liam and Mrs van de Kamp in the mess hall for a security meeting. When he'd slipped back into their living quarters, he'd been quiet. Now he was leaving earlier than usual.

Frustration gnawed at Liam. He wanted to talk to his father about the mission; he wanted to throw his arms around his dad and tell him to be careful. But if he revealed that he knew about the plan to capture the supersoldier, he'd have to explain how he knew. Liam didn't want to get Mulder (or himself) in trouble.

"Is everything alright, Dad?"

Mr van de Kamp didn't take the opening. "Nothing to worry about, Lee. Finished your homework?"

"Yep. I'm just going to brush my teeth," Liam said. "I'm up to a really good bit in my book. I thought I'd go to bed early."

"Well, good then." His father hesitated, tapping his fingers against the door frame. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Yep." When had it become so difficult to talk about things with his dad? He had to say something. "Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Be careful, please," he said, surprised at how small and fearful-sounding the words came out.

His dad's eyes twinkled. "I always am, Lee. Anyway—Sal'll keep me out of trouble."

Liam waited until he heard his dad leave before he picked up his toilet bag and headed to the communal bathroom used by families with children.

Ellie was hunched over a sink, spitting out toothpaste. She looked up and wiped her hand across her mouth when Liam walked in. Some of the stall doors were closed. He'd have to be quiet. Sounds echoed off the restroom's polished tiles.

"It's happening tonight," he whispered, propping his toiletries on the sink next to her.

The hand holding her brush dropped to her side. "Wow."

Liam squeezed toothpaste onto his brush and ran some water. "Dad's going out."

"Mulder won't let anything happen to your dad."

"Mulder's not going. They won't let him."

Ellie's jaw dropped. "Why not?"

"The supersoldiers still don't know where Dr Scully and Mulder are. Major Drummond and Mr Skinner don't want Mulder to go out just in case something goes wrong and the supersoldiers learn that he's in this area."

"Oh. Well, Stan's going. He'll look after your dad." It was funny that Ellie put so much faith in a friendship Liam thought was all but over.

"Will he?" Liam couldn't be so sure. There was a big question mark hanging over his former neighbor. It was almost as though Stan was embarrassed to know him.

"He hasn't said anything to me. It's like he doesn't want to be seen talking to me."

"It's probably just 'cos he's been so busy, Liam. Maybe after they catch a supersoldier, he won't go away so much."

She curled a strand of hair around her finger, and studied her reflection in a mirror while they waited for another kid to wash her hands and leave. "It would be good if you could talk to him. I bet he could prove if Sal was psychic."

Liam repacked his bag (which his mother insisted he use). "I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"Me neither."

Half an hour later he threw aside his book in frustration. His mother had allowed him to read longer than usual, but he couldn't get into the chapter. He'd started the same sentence about ten times before he concluded he was getting nowhere. He tossed on his back and then to his side. His dad was out in the darkness—who knew where, doing who knew what. He could hear his mother moving around in the family's tiny living space.

Somewhere in his aquarium Jerry was singing. He sounded woeful and lonely.

Liam's stomach leaped into his mouth when he heard footsteps in the corridor outside and the soft tap at the door of their quarters.

His mother was at the door in a second. "Dana?"

Liam sat up.

"I'm sorry," he heard the doctor say. Although her voice was low, there wasn't much soundproofing in the old walls. "Mulder isn't here talking to Liam, is he?"

"I'm sorry, Dana. I haven't seen Mulder this evening. Do you think he's gone with the others?"

Dr Scully sighed. "Not with them knowing it. Skinner would have sent him back. But he does have an uncanny ability to end up in the thick of the action all the same."

Liam didn't wait any longer; he padded to his door.

"Sorry, Mom. I can't sleep."

Two pairs of startled eyes turned to him.

"Are you okay, Lee?" his mother asked.

There was little point pretending he could go back to bed. He decided to come clean. "Mom, something's going on tonight, isn't it?"

Mrs van de Kamp glanced at Dr Scully with fleeting unhappiness. "Lee, there's not much I can tell you."

"That's okay. Dad wouldn't do anything stupid." He grinned and looked at Dr Scully. "At least this time he won't."

Dr Scully shifted uncomfortably—the last time his dad had made a bad decision, she'd shot him. That was the first time they'd seen the supersoldiers.

His mother wasn't silly. She was quick to work out the significance of his reference. "Good Lord, Liam van de Kamp! How long have you known?"

He fudged the answer. "I guessed?"

Her expression went from irritation to horror. "Just how much did you guess?"

"You and Dad and everyone else has been acting really weird since Stan arrived, Mom. It wasn't hard to work out something strange is going on."

She exhaled. "Well! There's no way any of us is sleeping now."

She gathered up papers scattered over the table she used for a desk. "I think Liam and I will go wait in the mess hall. You're welcome to join us, Dana."

The mess hall was quiet this late in the evening. Mrs van de Kamp let herself into the kitchen and returned with steaming mugs. Liam stared down at his watery hot chocolate, wishing he could've had just a dribble more milk.

They sat on a stall at a long table, but neither woman seemed particularly talkative; Mrs van de Kamp flicked through a collection of magazines left on a communal rack before she waved her hand apologetically over a load of paperwork. Dr Scully rummaged in a cupboard and found a pack of cards, which she went about sorting.

"What games do you know?" she asked Liam when she was satisfied the pack was complete.

They played Old Maid and Go Fish and he taught her Cheat.

Each time a door slammed or steps were heard in the corridor they froze, looked up and let out tiny breaths when another late night straggler would wander in.

When his mother finished her marking, she picked up a stack of newspapers piled next to the magazines. She dumped the stack on the table, and, starting at the top, leafed through the pages. Periodically she would use a craft knife to slice a page. It was the first time Liam had taken any notice of this activity. He'd seen her do it in the past and assumed she was preparing material for the senior classes. He'd been wrong. She was gluing the cuttings into a lumpy scrapbook.

"Can I look?" he asked after another loss at Cheat to Dr Scully (who was a surprisingly quick study).

His mother hesitated before she pushed the scrapbook over to him.

Liam opened to the first page. A date was written in her loopy handwriting: "9 Aug, 2011". Smoothed flat on the page was a small familiar sunflower seed packet. He touched it.

"Mulder left it on the counter at that house in Wamsutter," she said. "Remember that town we stopped in?"

They'd bought stuff from the gas station; Mulder had shared his sunflower seeds while he and Liam walked into the small town. Liam looked at his mother.

She cast her eyes down. "I'm making a new book of memories. These are all things I've saved from our journey. It's not much—mainly just newspaper articles—they're the easiest to get."

Three road maps stuck together marked the route they had taken from their home in Wyoming to New Mexico. On the page under it was a round imprint where an object appeared to have been pressed into the paper. Turning the page he saw why.

"This is the plastic lid from Jerry's cup," he said in surprise.

"Silly, isn't it?" his mother replied. "The pages don't even sit flat."

Dr Scully stopped shuffling the cards. "May I see too?"

Liam scooted over to make room for her so they could look through it together.

"That's our house," he said, turning another page. The shape of his two-storey wooden house was still there, but the windows were like burnt-out eyes and the blackened weatherboards where the fire had tried to escape were like fingers reaching out.

"What's happened to our stuff?" he said, trying to sound as though it didn't matter. In a way it didn't—or not as much as it might have had he been there.

His mother ran her finger around the edge of the cutting. "I don't know. We're the local mystery now, Lee. The fire department knows it was arson, but they don't know what happened to us. Our bank accounts haven't been touched. Our vehicles were left at the house."

He laughed. "We're an x-file!"

Dr Scully stiffened. "Please don't say that."

"It's okay, Dana," Mrs van de Kamp said. "I hadn't thought of it, but Liam's right. We are an x-file."

"If there had been any other way," Dr Scully murmured.

"I don't think we'll ever be able to thank you properly."

Liam fingered the scrapbook. The pages were stiff like papier-maché. His mother hadn't let a shortage of glue spoil her efforts. The flour and water paste worked as well as any adhesive, but large air bubbles had formed under the newsprint, crinkling it. She didn't seem to mind.

He skimmed the articles, finding some more interesting than others. He liked the ones with pictures best. He was about to pass over one when the same date as the first entry, hand written and heavily underlined, jumped out from the side: 9 Aug, 2011. That was the same day Mulder and Dr Scully had kidnapped them. He scanned the headline: "Kidnap Video Sparks Internat'l Search." The printed date on the story was October 13. He read on.

MELBOURNE, Aust (AP): An international storm is brewing over a YouTube clip allegedly showing U.S. marines abducting a man on New Zealand territory.

New Zealand Police Commissioner Stephen Smiley has opened an investigation into the disappearance of U.S. citizen Henry Martin from a remote South Pacific island but denied officials had ignored vital information which could have alerted them to the situation earlier.

"Grave fears are held for the safety of Henry Martin, who hasn't been seen or heard from since August," Smiley told a packed press conference yesterday.

"However, I stand by the way police have conducted this matter, and am resolved that, short of the new information that has come to light, nothing was known or would have indicated to us that Mr Martin had fallen victim to an act of malice."

The investigation has been prompted by claims made in an Australian newspaper this week that Martin is the man whose abduction went viral on YouTube two months ago.

The video clip uploaded to YouTube on Aug 9. purportedly shows U.S. marines bursting into a barricaded room and abducting an Internet conspiracy theorist known only as John X as he was conducting a live webcast.

Australian paper The Age-Sunset reported Monday it had had access to a hard drive belonging to Martin, whose last confirmed sighting was on Chatham Island, a remote island 500 miles east of mainland New Zealand on Aug. 9.

The paper said the hard drive, which was found concealed in a house on the island, proved Martin was John X and the YouTube abduction clip was real.

The U.S. government has moved swiftly to deny any involvement. State Department spokesman Kenneth J. Kipley said the military had neither overt nor covert operations active on New Zealand territory.

"We can categorically state the U.S. has never transgressed the territorial boundaries of our Pacific neighbors. To suggest we have is ludicrous."

Kipley said any attempt to impersonate U.S. military personnel was taken seriously, and it would press for severe censure of any offenders—regardless of nationality.

"We are as concerned about the fate of a U.S. citizen as Australia and New Zealand, and will afford the New Zealand Police every assistance.

"Our ambassador to New Zealand has been briefed on the situation. However, as the alleged incident occurred on foreign territory, it will be dealt with under the laws of that country. We have no jurisdiction there."

He refused to comment on criticisms leveled at New Zealand that it had been too slow to respond to Martin's disappearance.

The Age-Sunset reported Martin was last seen by three Chatham Island residents collecting mail from a post office box on Aug. 9; however, the alarm was not raised immediately because Martin was known to be almost fully self-sufficient and was sometimes not seen for several months at a time.

When shown a picture of John X, islanders noticed a resemblance between the clean shaven Martin and bearded John X.

The experts' opinions, pg B4  
Island recluse unmasked as internet 'hero', pg B4

Liam flipped the page, expecting more. He was disappointed to find only one more story glued into the scrapbook. It had the same look of the other story and the same printed date, and probably came from the same newspaper. But it had nothing to do with the man who had been kidnapped on YouTube. It did have a large color photo of an oil rig though.

$430m Rig Construction Ahead of Schedule

By JERRY de BEAUVOIR

ALBUQUERQUE, NM: Construction at petroleum giant Galbon's $120 million oil platform has been fast-tracked to ensure it is pumping by November—five months ahead of schedule.

Galbon CEO Ramon Araya told company shareholders yesterday construction of the multimillion dollar Galbon-Addonexus platform had been sped up to meet a renewed demand for oil in North America.

"This platform represents a significant boost to the health of the United States energy economy," Araya said.

"In recognition of the importance of the Addonexus platform, no effort was spared by the Government to ensure red-tape was minimized, and contractors working round the clock to meet construction deadlines have our hopes and exceeded expectations."

Once a three-week commissioning of the platform is completed next month, the rig will begin to tap oil and natural-gas reserves from the Chava field in the Gulf of Mexico.

Chava has estimated recoverable reserves of up to 65 billion barrels and is the world's largest known deep-water discovery.

News that production would come in ahead of time marks a reversal of fortune for Galbon which has been beset with problems since it first expressed an interest in exploring the Chava field.

Mr Araya said the good news vindicated investors' faith in the project. He dismissed as "superstitious nonsense" any suggestion Galbon was the subject of a curse, which had resulted in a series of misfortunes over the last decade.

Between 2003 and 2008, consent delays dogged the planning phase of the Addonexus platform, and at the same time, Galbon was forced to spend millions battling the Mexican government in a fight to gain unrestricted access to the field. After British Petroleum's disastrous Deepwater Horizon oil spill last year—the repercussions of which will affect Gulf states for years to come, Galbon mounted a fight against the moratorium on drilling in the Gulf, resulting in the Government's unexpected back-down in August.

However, many trace Galbon's run of bad luck in the Gulf of Mexico back to 2000—a year before Galpex merged with Mobon to form Galbon—and not everyone has welcomed the onset of production in the Chava field.

Galpex faced financial ruin in 2000 after Galpex-Orpheus, the rig it had heavily invested in to work Chava, was destroyed by an explosion which claimed the lives of 17 rig workers.

An investigation into the incident concluded the explosion was the likely to be the result of a terrorist act—although reliable evidence to support the claim has been scant and no terrorist group ever claimed responsibility.

A compensation lawsuit by relatives of the dead workers failed, which prompted some to openly question the investigation's findings.

Some have claimed the official lack of explanation was a cover up and have mounted opposition to the Addonexus platform development, saying the entire field is cursed.

Rumors have persisted that the rig had been quarantined just hours before the explosion because workers aboard developed symptoms of a previously undiagnosed and deadly contagion which could have come from the oil itself.

A spokesman for the families, Sergio Martinez, had a warning to the Galbon venture.

"You do not want to take that oil—you might not like what you find. How many more people have to die before you accept the truth?"

Mr Araya said the final stages of construction would not be stalled by "empty threats" and the project would see the return of platforms to the gulf after a significant decline in rig numbers started five years ago.

Return of the big rig? Industry pundits decree the Galbon-Addonexus platform the savior of drilling in the gulf, pg A4

Reaching the bottom of the story, Liam frowned.

"Why's this one in here?" he asked, not sure how the oil rig fitted into the story.

Mrs van de Kamp looked over his shoulder to see the story he had asked about. "Dr Scully can explain that one better than I could."

The doctor raised an eyebrow.

"If he's old enough to ask, he's old enough for an answer," his mother said.

Dr Scully tried not to let her surprise show. She took a deep breath before she spoke.

"Do you know how people become supersoldiers, Liam?" When he shook his head, she continued. "They're exposed to a virus which causes their bodies to change, to mutate."

"I thought the aliens had to kidnap you first?" Liam said.

"In the early days, while they were still developing the virus, we think that was the case. When the virus eventually started to work as they wanted—to produce supersoldiers—they probably started trying to make it contagious. Until that point, they would have controlled it—I'm sure they didn't want a dangerous and unpredictable virus on the loose—but there was one natural way the virus could spread. Would you believe we found a thinking alien that lived in oil? It was a virus, but it was conscious—in a manner of speaking."

Liam was fascinated. His mind made the leap between what she was saying and the article. "Is the alien virus in the oil in the gulf?"

"We think it could be."

Liam examined the photo of the rig more closely.

"Dr Scully?"

He gulped, considering the implications of his next question. "You said they were trying to make the virus contagious. Like swine flu?"

His mother put her hand on his back, an old move that used to reassure him. "Dr Scully's been working on a vaccine—just like for measles, Liam. It's nothing for you to worry about."

"We have a lot of work to do, but we know it can be created," Dr Scully said. "It's possible both Mulder and I have immunity. Mulder was exposed a couple of times. I found a way to save him—I didn't have a vaccine but we did stop him becoming a ... His circumstances were special though. I couldn't use that method again to save others. And I got stung by a bee once with the virus. Would you believe me if I told you Mulder had to rescue me—from Antarctica? He was given a vaccine to save me. The man who gave it to him was killed. We don't know who made it or if they are still alive."

Even Liam's mother was interested. "You've never mentioned Antarctica before, Dana."

The doctor shrugged, her cheeks reddening. "It was a long time ago."

Liam thought over this new information. "So, can you make a vaccine?"

Dr Scully made a face. "Well, it's not proving easy. But your finger has come in handy. Actually, your finger's proving very useful."

Liam didn't have to ask what she was talking about. The finger from the supersoldier.

"Isn't it, like, rotten now?"

"If it were still a normal human finger, it would be. But it's not behaving in the least like a normal human finger. For one thing, it still thinks it's alive."

"Eww."

"I don't have all the answers but it has certainly raised some questions. Do you remember the supersoldier near the rocks?"

He wasn't likely to forget it anytime soon.

"That supersoldier was destroyed, but our finger survived. We think the larger the body, the stronger the magnetite's force. That's useful knowledge." She shuddered. "Very useful knowledge."

Liam was confused. "How does that help with the vaccine?"

"Well, to be able to create a vaccine, we need the virus. That's where your finger comes in."

They talked a little longer about the finger—Liam swore he didn't think it gross at all—but Dr Scully declined his request to see the digit again. Instead, she drew his attention back to their card games. They played until he took longer and longer to make his moves and his yawns were impossible to ignore.

Riddled with sleepiness, his last thoughts as he put his head into the crook of his arm, were full of confusion: why wasn't his mother making him go back to his room?

A sharp cry shattered the night-time silence. Liam came to with a start, nearly falling off his perch at the table.

His mother stood in a pool of spilled tea and broken crockery.

Dr Scully was also on her feet. "Who's hurt?"

Men were piling into the room, Mr Skinner in the lead. As though a line had been drawn on the floor they could not pass, they halted.

Liam hunted for a familiar face.

"Scully—" Mr Skinner stopped.

Supporting a man between them, Mulder and Stan emerged from the center of the group.

"Harry?" Mrs van de Kamp said.

Liam stared at the bloodied man who threw off Mulder and Stan's support. Liam's head went light; the room was spinning.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," Mr van de Kamp said over and over. "Please ... don't touch me."

Liam rubbed his eyes and looked again. Dark patches and dots were splattered over his father's face. He was holding up his hands, staring with scary detachment. "It's not mine."

"Dad!"

"Don't touch me, please."

Arms snaked around Liam, pinning him into an embrace before he could spring at his father.

It was his dad standing there but something essential seemed to be missing. He was like a husk. Liam started to fight the arms holding him in place.

"Hang on, Liam," Dr Scully said.

Mr Skinner took Mrs van de Kamp by the shoulder, guiding her to a seat.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's okay, Marie. It's not his blood. We'll get him cleaned and warmed up."

"Skinner? What happened? The blood ..." Dr Scully said.

Mr Skinner steadied himself, putting a hand on the table. "Harry saved lives."

"The plan?"

"Worked. Hence the blood," Mr Skinner said. He pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "They're dropping them in the pits now."

"Them?"

"It was a two-for-one deal," Mulder replied. He refused to look at Dr Scully.

"That isn't all. What aren't you telling me?"

Mulder lifted his head and for a moment something seemed to pass between him and the doctor. Then he closed his eyes.

"It's Doggett."


	17. Chapter 17

November, 2011  
New Mexico

Liam's knees buckled as Dr Scully collapsed onto the bench pulling him with her. Her arms dropped, freeing him.

"Doggett?" Dr Scully's voice was strangled.

"Let's get the van de Kamps to their quarters," Mr Skinner said.

Before he knew it, Stan was herding Liam away from the doctor. As he was led from the mess hall, Liam looked over his shoulder and saw Dr Scully on her feet again. Mulder had both hands on her arms.

"Let me go, Mulder—I have to see him!"

Eric set a swift pace, with Liam's parents following. Lanky Stan was untroubled by their speed but Liam had to half-run just to keep up. He had so many questions he didn't know where to start.

"What happened, Stan? What's wrong with Dad? Who's Doggett?"

The name tugged at his memory.

"Later," Stan said, putting his arm out to halt Liam. They were at in intersection in the corridor; one way went to their quarters, another to the bathroom.

"Wait! Where's Sal, Stan?" Even as he thought of her, his panic subsided. Somehow, if anything should happen to her, he had the feeling he'd know.

"Sal's fine—she's on guard duty. We'll talk more after you bring back water and some towels from the bathroom."

By the time Liam returned, his mother appeared to be recovered from her fright. Mr Skinner and Eric were taking their leave when Liam slipped through the door, holding the bowl close so he didn't slop water on the floor.

"Get some rest," Mr Skinner said as they exited the room.

Stan remained, standing stiffly. Liam's mother picked up a washcloth. She began dabbing the dark flecks on Harry's face. The silence was an invitation or a command for Stan to start explaining—and start explaining fast. Liam was familiar with the strategy.

Their old neighbor took the hint. "I never wanted this for your family, Marie."

She shook her head. "Why does everyone say that? You, Dana, Mulder. We came here of our own volition, Stan. Ultimately, _we_ made the choice."

"Even so—I'm sorry."

"Okay." Marie straightened and matched his impassive stare with one of her own. "What happened?"

Liam caught the quick flick of Stan's look in his direction.

He crossed his arms. "I'm not leaving."

Marie gave a tight smile. As she dipped the washcloth and wrung it out, she nodded to Stan.

"I've been seeing a lot of evidence of the reborn along the borderlands. That's where we headed. We posted scouts and got lucky. We found one on the other side of the hills to the south about five miles from camp. We kept watch on it for more than an hour to make sure it was alone. It was concentrating on a hand-held meter of some sort. We selected our ambush site carefully. My abilities allow me to paralyze the molecules in a reborn—essentially I can hold one still long enough to disable it. We were concentrating on the first one. No one noticed the second one—it must have doubled around behind us somehow. The first we knew of it, Mulder was somewhere, yelling. Harry saw it coming."

Liam's father stirred from his stupor. He flexed his fingers slowly and studied them with an expression of petrified alarm.

"I had the ax." His voice was strained. "He was running straight at us. I don't know what happened to me, my head was ... ringing. I don't think he really saw me. I could hear Mulder from behind—they both came from opposite ends of nowhere. I think that's who he was aiming for. He was just going to run right over us."

He took a deep breath.

"I swung. Took his head clean off."

The cloth dropped from Marie's hand.

"Harry saved lives," Stan said. "I couldn't control two—not in those circumstances."

Images jumbled in Liam's head, an ax swinging, a head sailing out across the desert, its dead, cold grin still fixed. He turned on Stan, confused.

"Is that why Dr Scully's upset?" As soon as he asked, he felt stupid. Dr Scully couldn't have known, wouldn't have cared his father had just murdered a man.

Stan regarded Liam with an unreadable expression. "The second reborn was once a close friend. Someone she worked with."

"Dr Scully worked with a supersoldier?" Liam didn't know if he was taking this in properly. "Dad killed him?"

His father let out a bark. "They can't be killed."

"But ..." Liam remembered the finger again and shuddered.

Stan grew grim. "They reassemble, Liam. Each little part—the tip of a toe and lobe of an ear—can crawl and merge again."

Liam's father rubbed his eyes. "That's why we had the ax."

A terrible truth was forming out of the images that flashed in Liam's mind. Lying in bed, he couldn't chase the memory of the waggling finger, or the images of the imploding supersoldier and the bite of the ax as it took the soldier's head off.

* * *

For what was possibly the first time in his life, Liam slept in. It was lunchtime by the time his mother roused him from bed.

"How's Dad?"

"Awake."

Liam yawned and stretched. Someone had delivered them a late breakfast. Marie made them sit around their tiny table.

"Do I have to go to school today?" Liam crunched on cereal, waiting for a response.

For once his parents didn't have an immediate answer.

"Well—" his mother said.

" _You're_ not."

"It's not like you to want to miss school," his dad said. He was very quiet at the table but he seemed to be making an effort to appear his old self.

_It's not like you to chop a man's head off—even if he is a supersoldier_. Liam had caught his dad's long vacant stare at the bottom of his breakfast bowl, his spoon poised at the edge a fraction too long.

Liam felt a pang, wishing there was something he could do to make his dad feel better.

"Try not to get in the way of the other kids today, Liam," was all his mother had left to say on the topic, and Liam knew he'd been given a free pass for the afternoon.

It was just what he wanted.

* * *

He intended to stick to his mother's suggestion, but there was one person who would be anxious to see him.

Ellie slipped out of the mess hall at lunch time as soon as she saw Liam wave at her from the swinging doors. They headed to the bathroom in the living quarters area. They were silent until Liam was satisfied they were alone, doing his usual routine of checking under stall doors and pulling aside cubical shower curtains.

"They're not saying anything! No one would tell me where you were today." Ellie was wild and indignant. "I expected them to say something this morning, but no one's said anything."

Liam wondered if he should tell her what he suspected. "Have you seen Dr Scully this morning?"

"No. Why?"

"They captured two supersoldiers last night. One of them used to be a friend of Dr Scully's."

"No way."

"Yeah. Stan told us. I recognized the name though. I think I've heard Mulder and Dr Scully mention it before."

Doggett. He had heard it a few times, usually when Dr Scully and Skinner were talking, and it was usually never just Doggett; it was always Doggett and someone else. They were the friends Dr Scully had been expecting for weeks. The friends who had never shown up. Liam remembered the conversation Mulder and Gibson had been having just before Stan had been brought in. Mulder was supposed to be telling Dr Scully about ... Monica? It wasn't the only name he'd heard; there was also Mulder's mysterious contact—Liam was pretty certain that's who Esther was.

Ellie demanded an explanation and he told her about the names.

"Monica and Esther?" She pursed her mouth. "Girls' names. If Monica used to work with Scully, who's Esther?"

"Esther could be a code name."

"Whatever her name is, Esther must be the one who told Mulder and Scully to rescue you."

That thought hadn't occurred to Liam and he said as much. "Unless Mulder's getting messages from more than one person, I guess that's true."

Ellie nibbled on her thumbnail. "Wonder how she knows about your family?"

"No idea," Liam replied. "I never knew an Esther."

"You should ask Mulder about it. I think you have a right to know." She laughed. "What's the worst he could do to you? Tell you to stop being so nosy?"

Liam sometimes wished _Ellie_ was not so nosy. Whether it was comments and questions about his adoption or her dogged investigation to prove Sal had a psychic connection to him, Ellie had a way of asking personal questions that she expected Liam to answer willingly. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he didn't want her to know how much it unsettled him. Then again, maybe this Esther did know something about his family?

His family. _Was_ there something to know about his family? He had been resisting the thought, but Ellie had been raising it for weeks. Yet when he attempted to confront it, he discovered he was reluctant to delve deeper.

Ellie had no hesitations leaping from one theory to another. He hoped she'd be distracted by his next comment.

"I think I might be able to talk to Stan. He wasn't so—he talked with Mom last night. He said he'd talk to me later."

Her eyes went wide. "He's bound to have all the answers, Liam! About everything! About your dad. About Sal. I bet he knows all sorts of things!"

They talked a bit longer before Ellie looked at her watch and yelped. "I'm late. Mrs Fawbert's way stricter than your mom. You'd better tell me everything tonight," she said from the door.

* * *

Liam obeyed his mother and waited until he knew school was back in session before heading to the mess hall again.

On a hunch, he went, hoping to cross paths with the students.

"Whoa! Cutting class, are we?" Toby said with a grin when Liam sauntered past their table.

"Hi guys," he said. "Have you seen Jeremiah Smith?"

The name was strange in his mouth but he wasn't aiming for subtlety. If he acted like it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be looking for an alien, he was less likely to draw attention to his interest.

His theory worked. He got what he wanted and none of them queried him.

"I think he was with Praise this morning," Alan said. "He was over by Praise's section of the camp, anyway."

The students hadn't warmed to Gibson—but others had.

Liam liked Eric Hosteen, and valued his judgment, but found his bleak expressions off-putting. It was hard to feel you could have a joke with Eric. He regularly made time to play chess with Gibson.

And despite saving his life, Liam hadn't had much to do with Rudi van der Veldt. Rudi kept a wall about himself and seemed to enjoy the company of only a few. He wasn't mean the way Gibson could be, but he wasn't friendly like the students. Maybe it made sense that he would hang out with Gibson. Liam knew one thing for certain about Rudi: he had a passionate hatred of the Grays. He couldn't be blamed for that.

Liam waited until the students were gone before he made his way to one of the empty hangars topside. The sky was glarey with a high ceiling of haze. The heat of summer lingered, but there were signs the seasons were shifting. The few people outside showed little interest in him. He ducked down a narrow path between buildings.

The hangar closest to Gibson's cabin was open like most of the hangars around the old base. It was empty, but there were signs it had been used recently—including a crumpled bag of dog biscuits.

Sal was on guard duty. Liam had a bad feeling he knew _what_ Sal was guarding. The coast was clear when he put his head around the corner.

"Going somewhere, Liam?" He jumped when a hand came down on his shoulder.

"Stan," he wheezed as his old neighbor was staring down at him. "I—"

"I know what you're looking for. I don't think your mothers would want you out here," Stan said flatly.

Liam couldn't argue with him. He knew Stan was right. Now to find out if he had been right.

"You chopped them up, didn't you? Dr Scully said the finger didn't react to the magnetite because it was too small. That's how you're holding them prisoner. They're still alive but you chopped them up."

He wanted to barf for even suggesting it.

"Don't go looking, Liam," Stan said. "No one wants you to see it. We know you're an intelligent boy—that's just the way your mother wants you to stay—for the time being."

"What do you know? You're just an alien. You're not even"—Liam gulped—"you're not even human."

Stan twisted around, glancing outside before nodding toward some drums lined against a wall.

Liam hoisted himself up on one.

He thought he'd try his mother's trick. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong. He hadn't gone out of bounds; there were no curfews this afternoon. He swung his heels back and forth into the drum, enjoying the dull thud it made.

"You're angry," Stan said. "I'm going to answer some of your questions, Liam, but not all of them. I will not lie."

"You're just like everybody else then," Liam replied, taking another potshot at the side of the drum. "Keeping bits out is as good as lying."

Stan didn't take the bait; he leaned back against another drum and waited. All he needed was a strand of grass to chew on to complete a picture Liam had seen a hundred times before. It hurt.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Your people call me a shapeshifter. Some of my kind are known to Mulder and Scully as bounty hunters—dispatched to police our own kind and carry out the orders of those who control us. Some of us have rebelled—working against the beings who created and enslaved us. Some of us continue to do the bidding of our creators because that is all they know."

"I know all that. I was listening"—Stan's brow went up—"when you told everyone. I want to know who you are _really_."

"I am someone who wants what you have: freedom."

Liam thought about it.

"Don't you kind of have that already? I mean, if you really wanted to, you could just disappear somewhere in the world and the Grays would just forget about you."

"For a while, Liam, that would be true. But the little Gods have long memories and they know what is theirs. Sooner or later, they'll come for me, regardless of what I do or do not do."

What would it be like to live like that? He'd had a small taste when the supersoldiers had chased them over the mountain.

"Is it like you're always looking over your shoulder?"

He had broken a window in a farm shed once. He should have owned up, but he had been so ashamed he couldn't bring himself to tell his parents.

The longer he waited for the window to be discovered, the more convinced he'd become that trouble would be coming his way. Until one night he'd yelped when his mother turned out his light and his confession just poured out.

But Stan wasn't looking over his shoulder in guilt—and there were other things Liam wanted him to explain.

"How come you lived next door to us?"

"Coincidence is a very strange thing. I say in all honesty, Liam, I had no idea the reborn wanted your father. To me your parents were useful. They were kind and offered me a way into a close-knit community that other communities might not have afforded a stranger so easily. I'll admit, rural life wasn't something I was all that used to—most of my time has been spent in office blocks and single-room apartment dwellings. My ability with animal minds smoothed over any of my deficiencies in farming knowledge."

"Yeah. But it was all just an act, wasn't it? You're not really Stan—I mean you don't even talk the same way. Not quite."

It was true. Liam remembered a man who had been ... warmer; his speech even a little humorous and knowing. Stan had never been much of a talker, but that hadn't mattered. The man who sat next to Liam today was serious and stiff; everything he said sounded dire and he only had one expression.

"It was an effort to fit in. It was an effort to be that person."

"Gee, I'm sorry."

"You used to have much better manners—I said it was an effort. I did not say I did not want to make the effort. I tried very hard to fit into your world. You take so much about yourselves for granted. You smile and you laugh—it comes naturally for you. I can change my form—but it still takes a lot of effort to make myself look authentic. My first laughs were snarls, my first smiles were grimaces. Then I had to learn when and how to use these expressions and tones of voice. Working my new tongue around these new word shapes was easy—learning how to make the words sound _right—_ that was troublesome."

Liam studied Stan. Could it _really_ have been all that difficult?

"You always seemed normal to me. Back then you did, anyway."

Liam watched curiously as the muscles round Stan's mouth twitched and a smile emerged from the contortion. "What a compliment," the man said. "I'm out of practice around humans, Liam. It doesn't take long to lose it."

"But isn't this you now?" Liam said. "You've been human for so long now, doesn't it come naturally?"

"I've spent so long blending in—assimilating—but it never comes easily. Even a month, two in my own company and whatever ease I've had is gone."

It was weird listening to Stan; it was like his personality had been vacuum sucked out. Liam started to feel bad for him. "We know you're alien. Why not just be who you are? Then you wouldn't have to worry about fitting in."

"It could never be as easy as that, Liam."

"Why? Is it because you look really strange? Are you really scary?"

Stan stood up straight. "This is how I choose to look, Liam. And because this is how I choose to look there are certain expectations that go with this choice. It's not enough just to look human—it is upsetting and confusing for the other folk here if I do not try to be like them."

"That's stupid."

"But human."

"Okay. So you want to be human. Are you Jeremiah Smith-human or Stan-human?"

"Both names are a fiction. Both names are real. I meant what I said to your mother last night: I'm sorry you are involved in this. The last ten years might have been the most difficult in my life—they were also the most rewarding."

Although the inflections might have been strange, it was a relief to hear Stan's familiar voice and know his friend was still in there. Liam hadn't wanted to admit it to himself but Stan ignoring him had stung.

"Why didn't you talk to me? You just kept walking past me."

"I had to be Jeremiah Smith, the alien healer. That's how they have accepted me. Stan the farmer belongs back in Wyoming. He can do nothing for these people."

Liam scrunched his face in confusion. _He can be my friend_.

Stan continued. "There's a lot of fear in this camp. These people have a right to be afraid. And they are sensible to be apprehensive of any stranger turning up under unusual circumstances. Agent Scully has every reason to both fear and welcome me. I didn't want to give them any reason to feel alarm or concern during a stressful time. Do you understand? "

No, he didn't. Not really. On the one hand, Stan was suggesting he had to act human it fit in—but they still expected him to be alien too?

"Also, I didn't want to draw any unwanted attention to you."

Liam tipped his head to one side. "D'you think people would think it was weird if we were really friendly with you? People might start looking at us like we were weird too?"

"Something like that." Stan sighed. "I didn't want to draw any negative attention to you, especially since you are a child." Liam twitched. "Humans become irrational when the safety of a child is at stake."

Liam scanned the empty hangar. His eyes fell on the bowl of water and flattened sack at the door. Ellie would never forgive him if he didn't take the opportunity.

"Stan, can you really talk to animals?"

"Neat trick, huh?" For a moment, Liam felt as though the old Stan was here with him. "I can tell what they're thinking, yes. I can create suggestions in their minds."

"So Sal _did_ you lead here?"

"I wouldn't say she was psychic, but she's always been a smart and loyal dog, Liam. I think you've always known that. You yourself have always had an affinity for animals, wouldn't you say?"

"Maybe," Liam said slowly, "but it's not like I hear their thoughts or anything—and it's not like Sal's psychic."

He searched for the right way to explain himself. "It's just, see, maybe you can talk to animals and all, but if Sal's not psychic, how could she find this place? How could she know exactly where we were?"

"Good question," Stan said. "Perhaps a stronger force was guiding Sal?"

"Like God? Do aliens believe in God?"

"Our beliefs are not incompatible."

"So you think God showed Sal where to go?"

"I think something or someone drew Sal here. I knew this was where she felt she needed to be. I could only guess why."

This explanation was no more satisfying than any others he and Ellie had hypothesized, but Stan had said he would tell the truth and he seemed sincere.

"I s'pose it's possible." Liam grinned. "Anyway, it's not the weirdest way anyone ever got here! I mean, it's pretty cool—but Rudi van der Veldt's story has it beat I reckon."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He blew up a spaceship in Africa and woke up expecting to be dead. Only he wasn't. He had a strange object in his hand and it forced him to travel all the way around the world to this camp. Rudi thinks it healed him and that's why he survived the ship blowing up and falling out of the sky."

Stan whistled, again sounding like his old self. "That _is_ some story."

"Didn't you know?" Liam couldn't contain his surprise.

"That's what I meant when I said people here might not be so trusting. I'm not surprised they'd want to keep that a secret."

"That's stupid. I'll bet you could probably tell them something about the object. Couldn't you?"

The equation was obvious: the object was (probably) alien; Stan was alien; Stan was their best way of finding out about it.

"Perhaps I could." Stan became speculative. The more time they spent talking, the more old Stan seemed to be emerging. "Can you describe it to me? Did you touch this object?"

"No, I didn't touch it. I saw it once or twice. Dr Scully looks after it. She lets the others study it during the day—or she used to—I think she locks it up every night in her laboratory."

"Does she use it? You said it healed Rudi—has it been used to heal anyone else?"

Stan asked good questions—ones Liam wished he'd asked himself. "I don't know. Maybe. She never used it to heal me ..."

Stan drew back. "Have you been sick recently?"

"Nah, not really. I've had some headaches though. Say—maybe if I get another one _you_ can heal it!"

Stan didn't give any sign of what he thought of that idea. Instead he said, "So, you never held it? You don't know how heavy it was. Did you see it close up?"

"Not really. It kind of looked like a flat piece of pottery. It didn't look any bigger than a book from what I did see." Just thinking about the object brought on the echo of a thump in his head.

"You _can_ heal things too, can't you? Can you heal anyone? Anyone except supersoldiers?"

" _Almost_ everyone," Stan said.

Liam caught the emphasis in Stan's voice because it was at odds with the flat, matter-of-fact tone he had been using. "Almost everyone?"

"There was one occasion ... I tried to cure someone I thought was sick."

"What happened?"

"Nothing. He survived. Now I'm not even sure he was sick. I don't know what to think."

Liam pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged.

"Could the object be used to cure him? Can it do more than you?"

"Actually, I don't know, Liam. If it's what I think it is, its healing properties may be more a side effect. It may be capable of far more than just curing injuries or illnesses."

"But how does it work? How do you do it?" Liam asked.

"I don't know about this artifact. The little Gods inherited much of their knowledge and technology—and lost twice as much more. The artifact, I suspect, is very, very old. As for me, I have the ability to exert a controlled, precise influence over particles."

"How?"

"It's not a supernatural talent, if that's what you're thinking. Agent Scully might be able to explain it one day—if she's given the opportunity. Your physicists are making strides in their understanding of quantum mechanics."

"Can all shapeshifters do it?"

"Not to the same degree. It requires considerable concentration. Most of my brothers don't have the patience or inclination to learn the skill."

"Do you tell the particles what to do?"

Liam had to admire Stan's patience. If Liam's badgering bothered him, he wasn't showing it.

"It's not the same as communicating with an animal—particles have no conscious, chemical thought—but perhaps that's a good way to describe it: I tell particles what to do. There are limitations. I can restore cells ... but I can't make them into something new or contrary to the laws of the universe. I can cure the flu. I can't grow you a bionic limb—at least, I've never tried."

A gust of wind hit the side of the hangar with a bang. Stan moved closer to the entrance, suddenly on alert. Satisfied it was just the wind, he returned.

"Liam, I think it would be best if the others didn't know that I knew about this object. I won't mention it—you weren't to know they wanted to keep it secret."

The secrets were piling up like dirty laundry, annoying Liam.

"Why do people do that? Keep secrets? Everything would be so much easier if everyone was just honest."

"Who's keeping secrets?" Stan asked with interest.

"Everyone's got something to hide from everyone else! I know Mulder's not telling Dr Scully stuff. Gibson knows what it is—but then I guess Gibson knows everyone's secrets. He didn't want us to know he was a mind-reader. Major Drummond didn't want us kids knowing about the supersoldier plan. You! If that wasn't a secret, I don't know what is!"

He ran out of puff or righteous indignation or both. Especially when he thought about his own secrets: eavesdropping, the hole in the desert, sneaking off to find the supersoldiers. "Everything would be so much easier if we could all just be honest with each other."

"You don't think people might have good reasons for keeping secrets? Say I'd told your mom and dad the truth a decade ago?"

Liam knew Stan was right so he didn't argue the point.

"Anyway," Stan said. "I don't think this one will hurt, Liam. They obviously don't want me knowing about the object that brought Rudi here and it might worry them if they knew I knew. Although I am curious about it."

"Why?"

"Well, I think I know what it is—how it is used. Perhaps if I knew for sure it was what I think it is, then I could tell everyone how they could use it. But I wouldn't want to give them false hope."

"What do you think it does?"

"Dr Scully and the other scientists are looking for a vaccine. This might be something better—a cure!"

"How can we find out?"

"That's the other thing the adults might not like."

"What?"

"To find out if it worked, we'd have to put one of the reborn back together again."


	18. Chapter 18

November, 2011  
New Mexico

Liam was getting good at sneaking around.

He had no alarm so he kept himself awake by reading a book.

At midnight he slid out of bed and slipped his feet into his shoes. He pulled on pants and a sweater.

His plan was simple. If his mother woke, he would tell her he was going to the bathroom, and the trip would be postponed.

But Liam didn't need the excuse.

He eased back the slider, tiptoed across the living space of their quarters and paused at the door. Taking a deep breath, he opened it, and stepped out. He stood with his ear against the wall, listening for any noises from within. The room was silent.

The hallway was empty and dark in the early hours of the morning. Liam used his flashlight to illuminate the checkered pattern on the floor to guide him.

Stan was waiting at the stairs.

He nodded at Liam's cautious approach, and they descended in silence.

The bathroom excuse wouldn't work down here; he prayed no one was working late. With each step, his sense of adventure diminished, replaced with creeping apprehension.

_Am I doing the right thing?_

The plan had made sense this afternoon. If Liam helped him find the object, Stan would collect the body parts of one supersoldier, allow it to reassemble, and try using the object to cure it.

Stan didn't want the grownups to worry about him knowing about the object, nor did he want to wait while they "went into committee" to discuss the right way to proceed.

It would save them time if he could find out sooner rather than later, he said.

If the object didn't work (although Liam got the impression Stan thought this was unlikely), they would return it with none the wiser.

Liam had agreed to help Stan on one condition: that he be allowed to see the supersoldier.

Initially, Stan was reluctant—he only needed Liam's help to find the object—but Liam insisted.

Now Liam wondered why he felt it so important to see the soldier up close; it wasn't as though he had never seen one—or been close to one.

There was still time to back out.

But seeing the supersoldier wasn't really the source of his unease.

There were a few problems with Stan's plan—problems which didn't seem to disturb Stan but which Liam could see causing a whole heap of trouble.

What if the object couldn't heal the supersoldier? What if it reassembled and was really, really angry? What if Stan couldn't control it and it escaped?

Stan didn't seem concerned with any of those scenarios.

They crept along a laboratory hallway. No one slept on this floor and there was no sign of any light leaching under doorways. Glowing green safety signs gave him some sense of direction but without their flashlights they'd be blind.

Though the darkness pressed in on him, it felt safer to talk down here.

"Does it have to be a whole supersoldier?" Liam whispered, imagining the maniacal face. "Couldn't you just see if the object worked on a part of it? Or—or what if you just put the head and chest back together?"

Stan paused a second or two before answering. "Say I healed a leg—what would happen?"

Liam thought through the puzzle. "Well, it wouldn't be a supersoldier leg anymore—it would be human."

"Correct."

"But that's good isn't it?"

"Is it?" Stan said.

"Well, couldn't you cure all the bits separately then let it reform—wait. No, that wouldn't work, would it?" he said. "Once the body parts are human again, they can't reform."

"Correct again."

"The legs—they'd be dead."

"It would seem so."

Dr Scully's laboratory and office were just up ahead of them, next to the infirmary.

"What if we just tried to cure something small—like a finger. If it worked, we could put him together again without the finger and he'd only be missing a small part of himself."

"There's probably a few adults who'd agree with that plan."

"It's a small price to pay," Liam said, mostly to himself, when they stopped outside a door with a glass panel at the top.

Liam peered into the blackness. He stood alert, ears pricked for any sound. The stillness was complete.

Stan didn't wait around; the handle resisted when he tried it. Liam shone his light at it as Stan leaned in and jiggled it some more.

Stan went stock still. The lock gave with a sharp click.

"How—"

Liam was left gaping as Stan slid into the room.

The assortment of peculiar science-y items—burners and tubes—cast creepy shadows over the walls. There were sinks and benches and even a bulky refrigerator that looked like it had never been moved from the corner.

"Over there." Liam directed Stan to another door on the far side of the room. It was through there he had seen Dr Scully doing paperwork.

The inner room was secured too. Again, Stan gripped the handle and Liam heard the sound of the lock giving way.

This room was small—little more than a desk on one side and some cupboards on the other. Papers were stacked in file trays on the desk, and two pens lay parallel to the edge of a large crisp white blotter.

Stan's approach to searching for the object was just as orderly. He began pulling on the desk drawers, one by one from left to right.

Liam pushed past the desk and went to the cupboards.

The bottom row made a bench, along which Dr Scully's journals and books were lined up. Above it, the top row was almost beyond his reach.

_Not there._

His eyes were adjusting to the gloom. Along the walls there were several dark, rectangular shapes—photo or picture frames, their images obscured by the dimness of the room. Liam stretched up to one.

"Stan?"

He squinted when a beam hit his eyes. Stan looked at the picture Liam was touching.

Two tiny hand prints and two tiny footprints, and some words written in beautiful italics: "A mother's love is hard to explain."

They had to be from Dr Scully's dead daughter, didn't they?

Stan took no time to admire the artwork. He ran his fingers behind the frame, lifting it from the wall.

"Good work," he said, revealing a small recess behind the frame. Within the space was a solid-looking cube with a dial. Stan handed the picture frame to Liam. "Be careful with this."

It took Stan as much as a minute to crack the lock on the safe. The muscles in his face went slack and a trace of sweat broke on his forehead.

Stan's concentration was all going into moving the molecules of the lock.

Liam danced up and down on his feet, hugging the frame to his chest.

A drip in a sink in the outer room made him jump.

He had chosen to help Stan but he still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing. However much curing the supersoldier was the right thing to do, breaking into a safe was not and Liam didn't bother trying to justify it to himself.

He made an on-the-spot vow to his conscience that he would come clean about the break-in as soon as he was able.

When the safe popped open, Liam knew there was no going back. Stan reached in and rummaged through whatever Dr Scully stored in it.

Liam swallowed his guilt; it was making his stomach queasy. "Have you got it?"

"Yes." As Stan withdrew his hand, Liam could see the object in it. Another wave of nausea hit him. He felt dizzy.

Stan glanced at him, frowning. "Are you alright? You've been a great help to me, Liam, but you don't have to come."

That was a tempting thought—but somehow that seemed wrong too. Liam had committed himself to this action—because it had seemed the right thing to do. Pulling out wouldn't make him any less responsible for what happened. Now that they had removed the object, Liam felt honor-bound to protect it until they could return it.

He was the one who told Stan about the object. He had agreed to help Stan find it. He had a duty.

Liam took a deep breath and bit down on his cheeks. "I want to see the supersoldier."

Stan turned the object in his hands before he closed the safe and hung the frame back over the recess.

They were out of the building in a surprisingly short period of time. They left with no trouble, simply walking up two flights of stairs and out into the night.

It puzzled Liam that there were no guards around the camp. Surely they shouldn't have been able to slip out so easily?

"Don't worry about the guards, Liam. I thought it would be better if we weren't disturbed tonight. Don't worry," Stan added, "I simply encouraged them to act on their natural impulses."

Within minutes they reached the hangar where they had talked that afternoon.

Stan told Liam to go inside and wait while he carried out the next stage of the plan, which he would be able to do faster by himself.

Liam climbed on a drum again. There wasn't much light from the stars—the cloud cover from the afternoon hadn't shifted—but he could see better now that they were above ground.

Less than ten minutes later Stan returned with several canvas bags slung over his shoulders. Liam didn't have to ask what was in the bags. Some of them were twitching.

"Is it safe to carry them?"

Stan dumped two on the ground. Liam was glad to see both were knotted with thick rope. "It would help me if you could carry these."

Liam edged closer, toeing one sack that seemed smaller and less jumpy than the others.

"Head," said Stan.

Liam gingerly picked it up and rolled it over his shoulder. It was heavier than he expected and kind of warm. His body did an involuntary shiver as he imagined fetid breath blowing onto his shoulder blades—which was stupid—since the head literally couldn't breath. That got him thinking.

"Can it bite?" he asked, more in curiosity than horror.

"It's been gagged."

"Oh," Liam said. Then he stooped to grab the other bag, which was long and knobbly. "Arm?"

Stan nodded. "Bits."

Liam sized up the sacks Stan had slung over his back. "And you've got ..."

"All the other relevant bits—if we are going to do this, we must move."

They headed out into the darkness.

He hadn't gone more than five steps before he realized it would be impossible to carry both sacks _and_ hold his flashlight. He had popped the light in his mouth, even though it was a very unsatisfactory (and painful) method of carrying it. He couldn't direct it and his cheeks ached from being clenched.

During the day he never questioned where he was putting his feet. Now he stumbled every few steps.

He completely missed one obstacle and he found himself falling over. There was no thought involved; he let go his grip on the sacks and flung his hands out to brace himself.

Wincing, he retrieved his flashlight and looked at the palm of a hand. He'd come down on an old sharp branch and grazed it. There was blood, but the cut didn't look deep. He spat on the wound, then grabbed the sacks, re-positioning them on his back with one hand and biting down on the flashlight again.

The ground didn't get any less bumpy, but Liam adjusted his walking style. He was reminded of the trek which had brought him to this place. Stan must have slowed because Liam had nearly caught up on him.

Only a last minute sidestep saved him from another tumble. An obstacle with a straight, low edge rose from the ground. It was a tiny camouflaged bivouac, just big enough for a man to slide under, room to sneeze and no more. A head was poking out from one end.

Mouth full, he grunted. "Urm?"

"She'll wake up feeling refreshed."

"Urm," Liam said again—more insistent this time.

"She won't wake for several hours, Liam."

Liam wondered how many guards were sleeping on the job. He hoped they didn't get in trouble.

It was impossible to estimate how far away they were from the base. It was too dark to make out any of the buildings, but Liam thought he had a rough idea of the direction they had traveled. Finding this place in daylight wouldn't be too hard—so long as he could get past the guards.

A whimper and the unexpected brush of a dog against his leg heralded their destination. _Sal._

It was just in time; the weight of the supersoldier's head and arms were starting to pull on Liam's shoulders. Liam copied Stan, dropping his sacks with relief. Sal nosed at the bags and growled.

"You probably don't wanna touch them, Sal."

The dog sat on her haunches and gave him look which implied she wasn't stupid.

The sleeping guard was about fifty feet away. Her bivouac was set up off the side of a small mound. Liam supposed in the daylight the tent was supposed to blend into the slope. That must be how someone stayed out here at all hours.

Satisfied the guard wasn't going to wake, he turned back to Stan. There was nothing remarkable about this spot. Just a bit of corrugated tin half covered with dirt.

"Help me pull." Stan kicked at the ground until he unearthed two thick ropes.

Liam grabbed one of the ropes and started to heave. He felt resistance before something gave way.

"That should do it," Stan said.

Together they stared into the murk. It took Liam a few seconds to make out the bottom of the narrow shaft.

He gasped.

It lay still—it could have been the middle part of a shop dummy. Naked (definitely male) with a stalk for a neck but no head or arms or legs.

Then it shook.

Liam scrambled back. The thing—he supposed it was a torso—was rocking, almost as if it was trying to pull itself upright.

"What do we do now?"

Stan hacked through the knots around the top of one bag and then another, and tipped out the contents of both. "Watch."

Body parts tumbled into the hole. Liam winced in sympathy as part of a leg rebounded off the side of the shaft. It brought down a shower of gravel and loosened soil.

The fallen limbs were as lifeless as sticks (as you would expect with severed limbs). The torso still twitched, but the legs parts weren't doing anything.

_Joke's on me._

A dismembered body could not be put back together again, no matter how technologically advanced it was. Liam felt duped for having thought it was even possible.

But even as he was thinking it, something at the bottom of the pit squirmed. Shadows flickered against the rough surface of the shaft. Things were flopping like fish in a drying stream.

Liam watched in ghoulish fascination as the torso quivered then broke into a mad spin, whipping up dust and becoming a blur so fast once again Liam felt his stomach rolling around.

There was a metallic clank and then another, and—abruptly—the spinning stopped.

Liam blinked.

The torso had sprouted stumps. Before he could speak, a part—the right thigh—turned, as sharply as a compass needle, and flew onto one of the outstretched stumps. The ends clanged as they crashed together. The body spun again and there was another crash and the right leg was complete. Another jerk of the body and the second leg was reattached.

"It's like magnets," Liam said with excitement. "What next? His arms?"

The thing was planted on its knees, tense and solid—and expectant.

"Not his arms. Not yet." Stan slashed a hole in the other bag Liam had carried. The head landed with a thud on its side. Liam stared down—even from a height able to make out its profile, all angular and sharp lines. A piece of red cloth gagging the mouth was still knotted around it. Liam could see the jaw moving against the cloth: a fish mouth.

The body in the hole rose to its feet and hesitated as if it didn't know what to do.

Was this as far as it could go? What if it didn't know how to put itself back together again?

The body scrabbled this way, then that, on the sandy ground. With no arms to balance itself, its movements were unsteady. As it scuffled in loose soil, its movements became more and more frantic. Liam didn't know whether to laugh or cry, and found himself cheering the pathetic thing on.

"No, no! Not that way. To your left! Your left!" When he looked up, Stan was staring at him.

"Would you like everyone to know what you getting up to?"

"Oops."

Liam cast a guilty look over his shoulder. The guard hadn't stirred.

He had all but given up hope when the body sagged, toppling onto its chest—defeated. Liam let out a groan.

Quick as a wink, the head twisted and crashed onto the neck with a clank. That filled it with new energy. The body heaved itself onto its knees again, then to its feet. Its head snapped back and Liam found himself snared by its look of predatory hunger. Its mouth gnawed at the bind.

Liam thought the arms would be next but he was wrong. Stan had something small in his hand which he held out over the pit.

"Shine your light on this," he told Liam.

Stan called out over the edge. "You know what this is."

It wasn't a question. The supersoldier's eyes narrowed. Its face was almost triangular, skeletal.

"We took it from your partner." Stan dabbed a finger at a small screen. "I'm confident this symbol here is indicating you are in a dangerous position, friend."

Skin stretched over the supersoldier's cheekbones as it bared its teeth.

"You try to escape in any direction from this hole and you'll fly apart into a million irretrievable pieces. You are stuck here until someone decides to take you apart again or you decide to do it yourself."

Liam wasn't sure anything was showing on the screen. He couldn't even be sure the device Stan held was working; there was no electrical glow or blinking lights on it. However, it was unlikely the supersoldier could see that.

"Before I return your arms"—Stan kept a firm grip on the last bag—"we must establish some rules. Do you understand?"

The body's chest went in and out three times before it tipped its head.

"I've brought you three gifts tonight. The first—your life—should be obvious, as is the second, which I know is very important to you."

The supersoldier's glance glided to Liam then back to Stan. Liam was confused. What was the second gift? Whatever it was, it wasn't obvious to him.

"The third gift may be no gift. I apologize if it is not, but you see, I can not work it out. Perhaps if you have a look it at you may be able to tell us what it is. Perhaps then we might be able to discuss your situation. Work something out."

That didn't sound right. Liam tugged on Stan's shirt. "Should we be making promises?"

Stan ignored him. "Do you accept these terms?"

Another nod from the supersoldier.

"I'm going to give you your arms. You will remove the gag from your mouth. You will not draw attention to yourself. I will lower something to you and you may examine it. Do not attempt to keep the artifact. Make no attempt to climb. I will paralyze you. If you reach too high, you will be ripped apart. I think you do not that. Not after what I've shown you tonight."

It looked like the supersoldier was weighing up Stan's words as its eyes rolled back and forth from Stan to Liam. Only its eyes. There was nothing fish-like about it now. It was pure reptilian.

Stan must have been satisfied they had reached an agreement because he threw the last limbs into the pit.

Neither arm touched the ground. They fell like missiles honing in on their targets and rang with a metallic bang when they connected. Raw flesh lined up and healed like magic seams.

Whole again, the supersoldier lifted its hands to the back of its head, tearing at the knot with a savage yank.

Liam almost expected the newly formed man to leap at the walls of the hole, but it didn't. Freed of the gag, it settled back and waited.

Stan put the strange device down and picked up something else: Rudi's artifact. He wound a length of rope around it, knotting it in place.

Liam's vision was unsteady; the closer he got to the object, the blurrier his vision became. He had to suck in; only the cool night air filling his chest soothed his stomach. There was no point denying it now. He'd bet anything the object was the cause of his nausea and headaches.

Sal licked the back of his hand like she was trying to comfort him.

Stan started feeding the rope down the shaft. Liam risked a glance over the edge and saw the object going down, secured in the rope.

The supersoldier's intense stare was locked on him, sending cold waves through his body. Its arms went out automatically when the object brushed its chest—but its head never moved, as though the only thing that interested it at the moment was Liam.

Stan grunted, breaking the connection. Liam saw the object in the supersoldier's hands. It was holding it at arm's length. There was no discernible sign the object was having any effect.

Liam was about to ask Stan what they should be looking for when Stan leaned over the pit again.

"Keep your hands on it," he said. "What do you feel?"

The supersoldier appeared confused. Its brows lowered and its cheeks drew in. Its facial expression became harsh and it glared up at Stan. Its lips curled back in a snarl and it began to speak.

"Then get yourself an iron plate and set it up as an iron wall between you and the city, and set your face toward it so that it is under siege, and besiege it. This is a sign to the house of Israel."

Stan muttered under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

There was consternation on Stan's face as he looked down. "It hasn't worked."

"Maybe it just needs to hold it a bit longer?"

Stan drew in a sharp breath. "I don't think so."

The supersoldier was still holding the object, inspecting it more closely now. It caught Liam's stare again and its mouth broke into a soulless grin.

"And above the firmament that was over their heads was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a sapphire stone: and upon the likeness of the throne was the likeness as the appearance of a man above upon it."

Stan brushed Liam's next question off before he had a chance to ask it.

"Don't listen to his nonsense, Liam. A little learning is a dangerous thing."

"What do we do now?" The queasy feeling in Liam's stomach returned double-strength when he realized the situation they were in. Truth be told, he'd expected Stan's plan to work. They were going to have a lot of explaining to do.

"I wonder." Stan fingered his chin.

He tugged the rope and began hauling it up. There was no resistance from the supersoldier.

On his hands and knees Liam leaned forward to study their problem. The supersoldier seemed to have lost interest in the object now that Stan was pulling it up. Liam winced as it struck a rock jutting out from the wall of the shaft.

It bounced and slipped from the rope binding, landing at the feet of the supersoldier, who stooped to pick it up.

This was going from bad to worse.

"Stop." The supersoldier froze at Stan's voice, arm down-stretched. Not frozen from fear, Liam realized. Stan must be doing something to hold it in place. Its head could turn—and it swiveled up—but it was stuck in its bent position.

Liam turned to Stan, aghast. "What do we do?"

"We retrieve the artifact."

Liam gulped. "How?"

Stan pulled up the end of the rope and studied it, his face impassive. The knot must have loosened and come undone.

"You are light," he said, not looking at Liam. "I have paralyzed the reborn—although I'm not sure I need to. You will have to climb down to get it."

Liam couldn't believe what he was hearing. Stan wanted him to climb down into the pit with the supersoldier?

His old friend had obviously decided they were going ahead with the new plan. He was already putting more knots into the rope. Liam could see why. They would give him more purchase for the climb.

"I would do it myself, Liam, but there's nothing I can secure the rope to up here. I can hold your weight. There's no way you could hold mine."

Liam wondered how far away the daylight was. It was hard to know how much time had passed. "Maybe we should get help ..."

"No need," said Stan.

"But ..." Liam didn't want to say what was on his mind. "They're going to know soon enough ..."

"Know what?"

Liam fidgeted. "About the supersoldier. About what we did."

"Not necessarily." Stan put a hand on Liam's shoulder. "Do you trust me?"

Liam nodded slowly.

"Everything we're doing tonight is for the best, Liam."

Liam looked down again. The supersoldier hadn't moved. Its eyes were still cold and the grin on its mouth still chilling. How could he have been cheering the thing on minutes ago?

Stan squeezed his shoulder. "He won't hurt you."

The second Liam put his hands on the rough surface of the rope, his heart rate jumped.

The pit wasn't really that deep, but he wouldn't want to fall ...

Rather than think about the monster below him, Liam focused on edging himself down safely. Bracing himself with his feet and hugging the rope close, he inched down the shaft. His arms felt like they were being pulled from his shoulders.

The strain on his hand re-opened the cut; he was leaving small smudges of blood in the rope.

How he fell was a mystery. He lost his footing when the tiny ledge which had _seemed_ stable crumbled under his weight and his sweat made the rope go slick in his hands. He yelled and threw his arms out in a futile attempt to cling to the rock wall.

His fingers raked the jagged surface, losing precious skin as the shaft broke his fall but couldn't save him from sliding.

He landed in a tangle of legs and arms, struggling and wheezing.

"Lemme go!"

His hands scrabbled into and punched the supersoldier's face. Somewhere in the fall he'd picked up a mouthful of grit; he choked, coughing and spluttering. It took a moment for him to comprehend that he was now upright on his feet.

"He will not hurt you, Liam."

The light from above was almost blinding. Liam shaded his eyes but he could hear Stan's voice from behind the glare.

The supersoldier stood before him, wiping its hands over its face. Liam had drawn blood in his panic.

"Paralyze it again!"

"He will not hurt you."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Liam yelled.

_You're not the one down here_. But, then again—did Stan have a point? The supersoldier hadn't just broken his fall—it had tried to catch him.

Now it seemed frozen, hands still on its face. Stan must have done his trick again.

It unsettled Liam to expose his back to the supersoldier as he bent to grab the object. He wasn't really surprised his stomach started swooping and soaring when he touched it.

He remember Rudi's description: a piece of broken pottery only thicker and heavier. The way it made him feel there was no way it could have guided _him_ halfway round the world. Rudi had implied it had thoughts, personality. Liam sensed nothing.

"Got it," he yelled up to Stan, wanting nothing more to get out of the hole.

"Shall we try one more thing?" Liam was starting to think Stan was a little bit crazy. Surely getting the hell out of here was the best thing either of them could do?

"What?" he said warily.

"Try touching the artifact to his head."

"What?"

"Hold the artifact against his forehead."

"Why?" It came out a touch grumpy.

After what he'd been through, Liam felt entitled to some hostility. What would touching the object to the supersoldier's head achieve? The supersoldier was like a statue. There was no fear in its eyes when Liam did as he was asked.

There was a little tingling in his hands—like pins and needles—but if Stan was expecting the supersoldier to give any sign of being cured, Liam didn't know what it could be.

"Anything?"

The supersoldier spoke. "I saw that from what seemed his waist up he looked like glowing metal, as if full of fire, and that from there down he looked like fire; and brilliant light surrounded him."

"Guess that's a no?"

"So be it." Stan sounded unimpressed. "Liam? How about you? Do you notice anything."

Liam shrugged. "I don't think so."

"Very well, then." Stan paused in thought. "Have you got the artifact secured?"

"Yeah." The object wasn't much bigger than the palm of Liam's hand, nor was it too thick. It wasn't as big as he had anticipated and it went into a pocket with a bit of cramming. The pocket had a zip. He made sure it was pulled all the way to the top.

He was preparing to haul himself up the rope when the supersoldier said something normal-sounding.

"I can help you."

Liam stared at it. That had almost sounded polite—helpful, even.

Liam peered up. "Ah, Stan? It says it wants to help me."

"Then let him. It'll save us some time."

It wasn't the response Liam was expecting and he suffered a moment's indecision. The coldness in the supersoldier's face hadn't changed. Maybe—like Stan—expression was something aliens had to work at—even those that had started off human. And this one had only just got itself back together again.

The supersoldier held out its arms and belatedly Liam realized Stan must have unfrozen him.

"Um, thanks."

He looked the supersoldier in the eye. This had to be the one who'd rushed Mulder, the same one his father had dismembered—he just knew it. He should be frightened—and he was—but he was no longer sure _what_ he was afraid of.

The supersoldier's idea was to put Liam on his shoulders so that he could reach a slight ledge about six feet up. It lessened the distance Liam would have to pull himself up. There was no way to keep his heart from racing as the supersoldier put out a hand to help him.

Liam couldn't wait to be out of the hole; the climb went much faster than he'd thought. Stan reached a hand down to help him over the edge. Liam flopped on his back for a breather.

"Have you got it?"

Liam unzipped his pocket. He would be glad to be rid of the object. He had a duty to see it returned to Dr Scully's office. He sat up.

"Wouldn't it be quicker if I put it back and you could—" He waved his hand in a vague motion. It seemed rude to say "take care of the supersoldier" out aloud.

Anyway—hadn't the supersoldier just been nice to him? "Stan? Maybe he is cured! Why else would he help me?"

Stan busied himself collecting the sacks. "Try not to read too much into that, Liam. You weren't a threat to him and a good soldier doesn't waste energy on a trifle."

"So, he hasn't been cured?"

"No." Stan glanced in the direction of the camp. "It would be quicker—and safer for you—if you went back to your room. I can take care of everything from here—but," he said, cutting off Liam's protests, "I can see you're set on doing this. You're a good boy, Liam—when you're not breaking too many rules."

He wound the rope around his arm. "I'd better come with you anyway—just in case you run into someone up early."

Satisfied, Liam pocketed the object; it was only right that he took the responsibility of carrying it—even though his stomach gurgled. He risked another look down. The supersoldier was sitting but his head still craned up.

"What's going to happen to him?" Liam asked as they dragged the cover back over the pit.

"I'll take care of it." Stan flicked the empty sacks over his shoulder. He took a final look into the pit and in a raised voice said, "Maybe when I come back it will have solved the problem for us."

Liam sucked in his cheeks. "Are you sure he can't escape?"

"He's feeling very sleepy. He won't try anything before I return. And if he does—well, maybe that will be a blessing."

They left Sal to watch over the makeshift cell. Stan said he had absolute confidence in her ability. The guard was still sleeping. Liam heard little snores when they passed. He stumbled along muddling through chaotic thoughts.

"Stan?" he said at last.

"Yes?"

"Is the object what you thought it was?"

"Probably."

"But it didn't cure him."

"No."

"What if we didn't give it enough time to work?"

"If it were going to work, it should have been immediate."

"You said it could do other things. Do you still think that?"

"We'll have to see, Liam."

"What kind of things?"

"Perhaps the best way to describe it is as a battery pack—" At that moment Stan put his finger to his lip and Liam knew to be silent.

They switched off their flashlights. Liam saw a pinprick of bobbing light which disappeared into the dark.

"Not coming our way." Stan resumed his walk at a slower pace.

They made it to a building entrance without seeing any other signs of life. They tread lightly on the stairs to the laboratory so their footsteps didn't echo.

Liam grew easier the closer they got to Dr Scully's laboratory. He wanted nothing more than to jam the object back into the safe and be done with the thing. He had no cause to doubt Rudi van der Veldt's assertion that it had healed and compelled him halfway round the world, but the only thing it did for Liam was make his stomach roll.

Liam slipped under Stan's arm into the laboratory, heading to the inner office and unzipping his pocket.

With a grimace, he plunged his hand in and withdrew the thing. His mission was just about complete when Stan put a hand on his wrist.

"Will you give me one last look?" He borrowed Liam's smaller flashlight, holding it close to the thing, running the beam over its surfaces. Liam stretched up and unhooked the print frame.

"Anything?" He was holding out a hope that the cause of their unsuccessful excursion might reveal something useful.

Stan's eyes went to some markings on the edge of the object that Liam hadn't noticed before. The front and back were mostly smooth but the thick edges were rough—as though the thing was part of something larger. The markings looked incomplete, like half of them were on another piece. "I can't be sure—"

A voice behind them interrupted.

"Drop whatever you're holding and put your hands where I can see them."

Liam's heart leapt as the fluorescent lights blinked on overhead.

For the second time in his life, he found himself facing Dr Scully with a gun in her hand. She filled the doorway. He watched fury and shock ripple over her face when she caught sight of him. Her lips parted, then her shoulders relaxed when Stan turned round.

"Hey, Scully."

Liam, confused by the voice, looked to his old neighbor and gaped. Stan was gone; in his place, object in his hands behind his back, stood Mulder.

Dr Scully snarled. "Liam, get behind me. Now!"

There was no way he was not going to obey that tone of voice, but when he would have stepped toward her, his legs refused to work. He looked helplessly between his friends. It was just like the day Stan walked into camp—only this time Dr Scully looked furious and Stan wasn't Stan—he was Mulder.

Mulder put out a hand (not the one with the object), showing his palm.

"Scull—"

Her anger intensified. "Oh please! You've been pulling that stunt on me for years."

Mulder— _Stan?_ —put out his other hand, revealing what was in it.

Dr Scully blanched, shaking her head. "No, not that—"

"I need it. You don't." Mulder-Stan was calm, gentle.

Dr Scully looked like she wanted to argue but had lost her nerve—or couldn't open her mouth to get the words out.

Liam's body still felt like stone and he assumed Stan had done something to her as well until her hand suddenly went to the back of her neck. "I can't let you take it."

"Trust me." Stan morphed back into his usual skin and advanced on Dr Scully. "You know I don't want to hurt you. I can do more with it than you."

Her eyes glittered. "What? What can you do with it?"

"You know this is pointless." He walked into the barrel of her gun and touched a finger to the bridge of her nose. "You really _don't_ need it, Agent Scully."

"Maybe not today," she said.

"You have everything you need, Dana. You don't need this."

"Is that why you came here? To take it?"

He shook his head. "Like everyone here I came seeking answers."

"Did you find them?"

"Some."

"How nice for you." There was bite in her voice.

" _Things_ are ... not as we thought."

Her eyes narrowed. "What things?"

"It does not matter. I was wrong about someone, about their ... talents."

"That's right. You _were_ wrong—ten years off the mark, in fact. When you leave, you make sure your ... brethren _..._ are brought up to date with the situation. I swear I will kill—"

Stan stopped her with his smile.

"You gave the world a gift, Dana—that gift will save you. You _know_ what that gift is. We are not all so lucky."

It happened so quickly—Stan grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into the room with so much force she fell to the floor and struck her head against the desk.

"Help her," Stan said as he disappeared through the doorway.


	19. Chapter 19

November, 2011  
New Mexico

"Dr Scully? Are you okay?"

Liam dropped beside the doctor. Her hair fell over her face, and when she didn't answer, he put out his hand to clear sweep it aside. His fingers came away slippery.

"Dr Scully?" He patted her on the shoulder, trying to rouse her.

Her head lifted. "Jeremiah—"

"He's gone, ma'am," Liam said.

Her eyes blinked open. "Liam?"

"Try not to move too much, ma'am—I'm going to get something for your head."

She was already trying to sit up. She put a hand to her forehead and winced, feeling the blood.

"Damn. There should be medical supplies in a drawer by the sink."

Liam jumped up and dashed into the other room. He returned cradling an assortment of items.

"You're bleeding real bad, Dr Scully."

He ripped open a packet of sterilized cloth. She had a small smile on her face when he held it up to her wound.

"I'll live," she said, but she didn't swat his hand away and remained still as he wiped the blood. She even thanked him when he declared she probably would not need stitches. He helped her up and reached out when she swayed a little on her feet and leaned against the desk for support. He stayed by her side as she walked to a bathroom along from the laboratory to examine the wound herself.

When she had applied a Band Aid, Liam readied himself to face the music and took a deep breath.

"Dr Scully?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry." He whispered the apology and stared at his feet.

There was no anger in her voice, only concern. "What happened, Liam?"

He wished he knew.

"I thought we were doing something good. Stan—" It was the name of a friend he knew he'd never be able to use again. "Jeremiah thought he knew what Rudi's object was. He thought it could be used to heal supersoldiers."

"Is that why Jeremiah stole the artifact? He was going to heal a supersoldier?"

Liam shook his head, realizing sickly he hadn't explained enough.

"It didn't work, Dr Scully. We tried, but it didn't work the way he thought it would."

"You mean—"

"We already made a supersoldier whole again." The words spilled out.

He could tell she was thinking furiously. Her face was still but she was sizing him up. "Did you touch the artifact?"

He nodded and she winced. "It didn't do anything to me—except give me headaches and make me feel sick. I think it's been doing that ever since Rudi got here."

She was unhappy. "Everything, Liam. Tell me everything you did."

Shamefaced, he told her about breaking into her office and his trek to the pit with Jeremiah.

She was silent as he described how they put the supersoldier back together. Her knuckles went white when he got to the part about the artifact falling, and she was rigid when he described climbing down the shaft. He finished in a hurry, waiting for the inevitable telling-off he deserved.

"And nothing happened when you touched the artifact? You didn't feel anything?"

He found her intensity uncomfortable, and he hurried to reassure her. "No, nothing. Nothing happened—to me _or_ the supersoldier."

Her next question was calmer. "What happened to the supersoldier, Liam?"

"Jeremiah was going to—" _The artifact. Is that all he wanted all along?_

Was that the reason he let Liam tag along in the first place—so Liam could show him where it was? Liam's knees went rubbery.

Dr Scully put both hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye, and he forced himself to look at her.

"Go find Mulder—tell him it's raining sleeping bags and bring him back with you. Do not stop and talk to anyone else. Do not tell anyone what you've just told me. Quickly, Liam."

He sprinted down the hallway, taking the steps two or three at a time as he raced upwards before slowing to a fast walk when he hit the living quarters area.

Despite the early hour, Mulder must have been up. The door opened moments after Liam knocked.

Mulder grinned. "Look who it—"

"Please, Mulder, Dr Scully says you've got to come." He grabbed Mulder's arm. "She said to tell you it was raining sleeping bags."

Mulder was instantly alert. "Where is she?" he said, stepping outside and pulling the door shut behind him.

"Downstairs."

Dr Scully was pacing her laboratory. "I'm fine, Mulder," she said when she saw them.

Mulder spotted the plaster on her forehead. "What's going on, Scully?"

"Jeremiah has the artifact."

Mulder's eyebrows shot up. "Jeremiah did that to you?"

"It's my fault," Liam said, wanting to get his confession over and done with again.

Mulder stared at him.

For the second time he explained Jeremiah's plan and his part in it. He tried to ignore the burning sting in his cheeks.

"Jeremiah said he'd make sure we got the artifact back, and then he'd take care of the supersoldier. He never said anything about taking it—the artifact, I mean."

Dr Scully and Mulder exchanged looks.

"There's still the possibility Jeremiah is at the pit now," Dr Scully said. She fingered the cross at her neck.

Mulder checked his watch. "Half-past five—a couple of hours off sunrise. I'll get Skinner and Gibson."

"You'd better hurry. I'll keep Liam here with me until we know."

With that, Mulder was gone.

Liam fidgeted a little before he hoisted himself onto a stool opposite Dr Scully. Confessing to her and Mulder had been bad enough. He dreaded having to tell his parents, but there was no point prolonging the ordeal—he'd learned that lesson before.

"Dr Scully? Mom and Dad usually get up at half-past six. They're gonna wonder where I am ..."

He expected her to agree, to accompany him back to his quarters and to deliver a full report on his behaviour to his parents.

She didn't.

"Liam, can you remember exactly what Jeremiah said before he made you climb down to the supersoldier?"

"Sort of." He closed his eyes to think. "He said it wouldn't hurt me."

"It?"

"The supersoldier—'he', I guess, not 'it.'"

"How did he seem?" Her questioning was gentle.

"Weird."

It was too late to take the word back, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she smiled a little.

"Well, he was," Liam said. "He spoke funny, like he was chanting."

Her smile grew, but there was something sad about it, too.

"Poor John," she murmured.

"Jeremiah said you worked with one of the supersoldiers," Liam said.

"He wasn't a supersoldier when I worked with him," she said. "Did you know the other supersoldier they captured was a woman?"

She gave him a searching look. "Did he say anything to you? Anything you remember?"

"Not really." He wished he could tell her more. Something to comfort her. He'd seen her laugh and smile, had seen her get angry and commanding, but there was only one time he thought he'd seen her lose control: that first night, in the house in Wamsutter when she'd rescued Jerry. She'd scratched her neck and hadn't made much sense. Deep down, Liam reckoned she was hurting over her friend—she just didn't let it show. If only the plan _had_ worked—it would have meant so much more to Dr Scully. "He just said something about an iron and Israel, and a throne, and a sapphire?"

She sighed. "Did Jeremiah say why he thought the supersoldier wouldn't hurt you?"

"Maybe. I think he said the supersoldier wouldn't bother with me because I wasn't a threat. He did say something strange right at the start."

She waited.

"He—Jeremiah—said he was giving the supersoldier three things."

That got her attention. "What things?"

"He said he was giving back the supersoldier life—I got that bit. He said the second thing should be obvious, but I couldn't see anything—unless he was talking about the magnetite meter. I think the third gift was supposed to be healing him." Liam ducked his head. "That didn't work. I'm sorry."

"You have no reason to apologize to me, Liam."

"But if I hadn't—"

"You were tricked, Liam. We all were. Jeremiah played on your friendship. Yes," she said, when he opened his mouth, "you made mistakes, and did some incredibly dangerous things and if I ever catch you doing anything like that again ..."

She drew in a breath. She seemed to be steadying herself. "Jeremiah made it difficult for you to say no, didn't he?"

She left him to reflect on that thought while she disappeared into the inner room. He heard a rustle of papers, followed by a click, and guessed she had examined the remaining contents of the safe and closed it. He went to the doorway to watch her. She was lifting the frame back on the wall.

When she lingered over it, Liam opened his mouth without thinking.

"Mr de Rosier," he said, stumbling over another name no one wanted to say anymore, "Mr de Rosier said you had a little girl once. Are they her footprints?"

For a moment he wondered if he had gone too far. Dr Scully's finger traced the outline of one print.

"I _did_ have a daughter. Emily would have been sixteen this year."

"Oh." He wished he hadn't mentioned it.

Perhaps she sensed his discomfort; she smiled at him. "Would you have liked an older sister?"

"Maybe," he replied. "Would depend on how nice she was, wouldn't it?"

The clatter of footsteps warned them people were coming, and Liam spun around just before Mulder, with Mr Skinner and Gibson, burst through the door.

Dr Scully appeared at Liam's side. When Mulder caught sight of her, he shook his head. "Jeremiah _did_ go back to the pit, but he didn't stick around."

"How do you know?"

He handed a piece of paper to her. "It has your name on it."

She unfolded the note and read, her face screwing up in confusion. "'Look closely to the lamb for healing'. Riddles!" She glowered in disgust and the scrap went into a pocket as she turned her attention to a more urgent matter. "John?"

Mulder took a step to the doctor. "You're gonna need to see him, Scully."

She caught the edge in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"He's fucked," Gibson said. "It's like his mind's on a loop. There's no sense in it at all. It's unlike anything I've ever seen—or heard."

Dr Scully turned to him and Mr Skinner.

"He's walking into the wall," Mr Skinner said. "He gets up, walks at the wall like it isn't there, rebounds and does it all over again."

The doctor digested this news, her fingers tapping against the bench.

Liam felt another flush of guilt. _What if instead of healing him, we made the supersoldier really sick?_ "He seemed alright when we left."

"It could be a latent effect of his rejoining," Dr Scully said, but her uncertainty was clear. "Is he contained, at least?"

Mulder nodded. "He's not going anywhere for the moment—that gives us time to work out what's wrong with him and whether it's temporary."

"And what we tell the others," Mr Skinner said.

There was a beat of silence.

Dr Scully's hands went to her hips. "I don't see there's any need for Liam to be dragged into this. I found Jeremiah with the artifact this morning, confronted him, and he told me he thought he could use the artifact to heal the supersoldier. He failed and ran, taking the artifact. That should cover everything. Agreed?" Dr Scully's word was final. None of the men argued with her, although Gibson's eyes went hard and Skinner seemed to be on the verge of saying something.

Suddenly, nostrils flaring, Gibson bristled and thrust his face into Liam's. "What did you do?"

His sneer would have made Liam seethe if he had not been so shocked by Gibson's aggression.

"What are you talking about, Gibson?" Dr Scully demanded.

"I can't read his thoughts," Gibson said. "His mind—it's blank. It's like he's not even there."

Liam didn't see how that was a bad thing, except now everyone was looking at him.

"I didn't do anything," he said, drawing back.

_Sheesh. Of all the things to be mad about._

Gibson's eyes glinted. "You touched the artifact."

"So did a lot of people."

"Stop it," Dr Scully said. "I've already been over this with Liam, Gibson. We can sort the matter out later. We have to get Liam back before his parents find him missing."

Still smarting from Gibson's attack, Liam stiffened. "I'm not lying to Mom and Dad."

"Liam—"

"No. I don't want anymore secrets." Facing off against her, he could just about look her in the eye. Even so, the look on her face—all blazing steel—nearly made him back down. He gulped but stared back. "I knew what I was doing was wrong."

He wasn't expecting her face to soften.

"Okay," she said. "But will you let me do one thing? Will you let me talk to Marie and Harry?"

* * *

His parents took the news quietly.

Dr Scully waited until Liam thought they would be up. She knocked on their door, and his mother opened it. She was surprised to see them but not unduly upset—that is, until Liam started talking.

He had decided to come clean about (just about) everything; he confessed to listening in on Jeremiah's interrogation, and he admitted he had been angry when his friend appeared to be avoiding him. He told them about talking to Jeremiah and accidentally mentioning the artifact. Then he launched, for the third time, into a description of his adventure with the supersoldier. The whole time he watched them, looking for some sign of just how much trouble he was in, but their faces were blank.

When he finished speaking, he couldn't hold back a yawn.

"I suppose you've had no sleep," his mother said. "I'm tempted to make you go to school as punishment. Letting you take the day off again seems a little like a holiday."

If they were angry, they weren't giving much away; just the crease lines about his mother's mouth and the fact his father was stroking his chin let him know they processing this story. It was unsettling not to know their real thoughts.

Dr Scully cleared her throat. "I could always do with some help downstairs."

"Maybe we'll take you up on that offer, Dana," Harry said. "That, or he can help with some of the camp chores for a week or two—Lord knows, we could use the extra help."

Liam couldn't stifle a second yawn. It was enough to snap his mother into action.

"Right. Is there anything else you'd like to get off your chest? No? Well, then—bed." She pointed to his room.

As he toed off his shoes and changed into his pajamas, he tried to be as silent as possible so he could listen to Dr Scully, who waited until he left to start speaking.

"I intend to keep Liam's name out of this," she said.

"What do—"

"I don't think it's necessary for the entire camp to know what Liam's involvement was, and the circumstances which gave rise to it are unlikely to be repeated. I don't condone what Liam did—you can have no idea how angry I was with him this morning—and I hope he learns there are always consequences to the choices we make, but he _was_ manipulated by Jeremiah. Liam had no reason not to trust him or his motives."

"Are you saying we can't trust Stan after all?" Liam's father sounded confused.

Liam climbed under the blankets, suddenly glad for their warmth. Thoughts swirled in his head. It didn't feel real that his friend had tricked him just to get the artifact. And there had been a moment—when Dr Scully fell—when Jeremiah stared down at her and seemed to be on the verge of apology. So, even if he had wanted to steal the artifact, he didn't mean the doctor any harm. If he wanted the thing for himself, why?

Liam struggled to understand what had happened; Jeremiah had been a friend, but he was also an alien. Was he also their enemy?

In the other room Dr Scully hadn't finished talking. "Jeremiah would have eventually learned about the artifact and he would have done exactly the same thing without Liam's help."

She went silent briefly before she continued. "Look—people talk. We already have enough to cope with here. I'd hate Liam to suffer any kind of unfair attention whether from his friends—or adults who should know better."

Hadn't Jeremiah said something similar to him already? It had seemed to make sense then; now sleep was fogging his thoughts, but something felt _off_ about the argument. Did it really matter if people knew he was friends with an alien? Would they really think it was that weird? Why did it worry Jeremiah and Dr Scully so much? Liam didn't hear his parents' response as he drifted off, finally overcome by his adventure.

o0o

He shuddered awake.

In the gloom he ran his hands over his face, feeling the familiar contours of his nose and cheeks: so far, so human.

Not like in the dream.

o0o

Liam slept until midday. Then his father got him up and told him to dress for school. He also revealed Liam's fate for the next month: chores—and lots of them. After class he was to head outside where he was to spend an hour helping the adults on laundry duty that week.

In the scheme of things, he had come off more lightly than he deserved, but after an hour taking down what seemed like endless lines of bedding, towels, sleeping bags, hand towels and dishcloths, he began to dread the thought of another day in the same mindless pursuit.

When his hour was up, he was sent on his way. From the cries and shrieks of laughter his friends were playing on the field behind the main building. He wandered in that direction but decided not to join in immediately.

His mother had explained away his absence that morning, telling Ellie he had been unable to sleep last night and had been feeling off-color—which wasn't a lie. There hadn't been time to fill Ellie in on the real details during class, so as soon as she saw him approaching, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away from the action.

She listened patiently while he told her about his punishment. She was enthralled by his adventure.

"You know, Liam," she said, "I don't care what Stan says. I don't think it was a coincidence he was living next door to you."

The muscles in his shoulders went rigid.

"You're important somehow, Liam. I just know it. I think he was watching out for you."

What she was saying was silly, and he should have laughed at her, but he couldn't control his shiver—and the unsettling and unbidden image from his dream this morning popped in his mind.

"In fact, I don't think he's the only one who's been watching out for you."

Her voice was easy to tune out. He had stopped listening. There was something more important to say.

"What if ... what if my mother—my biological mother didn't want me because there was something wrong with me?"

That startled Ellie. "What?"

"Can I tell you something? It's this dream I had today," he said, not waiting for her reply.

"I was playing baseball—you were there, and Nick and Aaron. I had the bat in my hand; I was swinging it, waiting for Nick to pitch. Only Nick doesn't pitch; instead, he starts screaming and running. And everyone else is running too. I think I should be running too, only I don't know why, and when I try to move it's like something's weighing me down from behind, and when I look behind me and Dr Scully and Mulder—who's the umpire—they're talking, and Dr Scully keeps saying she doesn't want to tell me and I shouldn't have to know because it's not fair, and Mulder's coming towards me, holding up his hands like he's gonna fend off an attack, and he says it's cruel I can't see what everyone else does, and I try again to move, but when I look down to see why my legs don't wanna go, they aren't my legs anymore, they're kind of greenish and scaly, and then I realize the bat's really painful in my hand and my fingers can't wrap round it, and I see they're not my hands, they're not hands. They're not human.

"That's when I woke up." Liam looked up. "Stupid, hey?"

Ellie blinked. "This has something to do with your mom?"

"I think she knew," he said.

"Knew what?"

"Knew I was some kind of monster."

A breeze shivered through the grass at their feet; peals of laughter floated over the field; a door slammed somewhere: small sounds filled the empty desert.

"Liam?"

"What?"

"That's stupid," she said.

He hoped she was right.

The supersoldier had treated him with courtesy (there was no other way to describe it); Gibson, who could read every mind—in the galaxy probably—couldn't read his; his old friend was an alien; aliens wanted his dad to be a supersoldier; he knew what his pets were thinking.

Liam and Ellie both looked up when howls of outrage rose from the field: the protest calls indicating the unspoken rules of sportsmanship that governed all their games had been broken by someone—probably Aaron because he was the one striding back to the group with the ball held aloft in triumph. His smug grin didn't last long when the others tackled him _en masse_. Neither Liam nor Ellie was inclined to join in.

Ellie squinted as she tried to make out who was emerging victorious from the mob. "Do you ever wonder about them? Your real parents."

"Mom and Dad _are_ my real parents."

"I'm sorry." From her contrite look, he thought she meant it. "I mean your birth parents."

_Do I ever think about them? Lately yes_. Enough to admit, finally, that what he felt was hurt. He couldn't stop himself sometimes wondering, _what if?_ He used to ignore the thoughts out of loyalty to his mom and dad. But lately the thoughts seemed closer somehow to the surface. No matter what way his thoughts wandered, there was only one destination. Whatever her reasons, his biological mother hadn't wanted him. He could make up all the excuses for her he wanted, but it was time to face facts. She hadn't wanted him—and now it was possible he knew why.

"Liam"—Ellie clutched his arm again—"what if someone really is watching out for you! Think who that could be!"

He looked blankly at her.

"What if Stan was watching over you because he was asked to!"

"Asked? Who by?"

Her eyes shone with revelation. "Your mother! Think about it! Someone had to tell Stan where you were. And"—if he wasn't seeing it he wouldn't have believed her eyes could go any wider—"what if your mother knows Mulder? What if she's the one who told him and Scully to go to your house?"

She snapped her fingers. "That woman! You told me about her. The one who keeps sending Mulder text messages!"

"Esther? It's possible, I guess ..."

Ellie would not be shaken. "What if Esther is really your mother, Liam?"

"I don't even know if Esther is a real person—"

Ellie refused to fall out of love with her idea.

"It fits. It fits so perfectly! That would explain Stan, and why you're important. Your real mother knows something about you and she's looking out for you!"

Of all her ideas, this one had to be the silliest—and he should have told her.

_So why can't I? Because secretly I want her to be right._

Could his mother—his _real_ mother—be out there protecting him, even at a distance? And if it wasn't true, what was the harm in believing it? Better to believe that than that she gave him up because of what he was.

The weather was cooling and sunset came earlier every evening. Long after Ellie and Aaron and the others had headed in, Liam found himself on his favorite slope sitting with his head resting on his knees. The old t-shirt he had thrown on this afternoon was no match for the bitter sting of the changing season. He drew his knees in closer to his chest. He knew he should go in, that his parents would come looking for him soon, and—given the previous night—they were unlikely to tolerate any excuses.

He couldn't stop his mind racing about; if it wasn't his dream, it was Mulder's mysterious texts or the strange kindness of the supersoldier. Or it was Jeremiah.

By now everyone would know about the supersoldier and Jeremiah's theft. He didn't feel any less uncomfortable knowing only a few people knew about his involvement.

He wasn't aware of anyone approaching until an unkind voice from behind startled him.

"Hey, freak, I told them you'd be sulking."

Liam flinched. He didn't have to look to see who it was. Everything about Gibson—from his lopsided gait to his thick-lensed glasses—was distinctive. His voice was no different.

" _You're_ calling _me_ a freak?" His heart wasn't in the retort. After all, hadn't he just been thinking along those lines anyway? For all Gibson claimed not to be able to read Liam's mind, he sure seemed to know what was going on in it.

There was nothing pleasant about Gibson's smile. "The funny thing is"—he said it like he was speaking to himself—"we have so much in common. You can't read my mind—and I can't read yours. That makes you one out of seven billion."

Liam eyed him with suspicion.

"Your parents sent me out looking for you," he said. "If I had as many people looking out for me as you do, I think I'd find ways to treat them better."

Liam bit hard on his cheeks. On this occasion Gibson had a point—and he hadn't finished.

"It's kind of lonely—and cold—out here. The perfect place when you've a load on your mind."

The words were so unexpected Liam could not contain his surprise. Was Gibson trying to _talk_ to him? Have an actual conversation?

No.

"Betrayal," Gibson said, making the hairs on Liam's arms prickle. "Such a dirty word. Hanging around with these people you'd better get used to it."

He turned, leaving Liam alone and shivering.


	20. Chapter 20

November, 2011  
New Mexico

Try as he might, it was impossible to dodge the raindrops. Spots splashed and soaked Liam's arms; he hurried as fast as he could.

"What's in these things?" he asked Alan Hirsh as he darted under the eaves of the building.

The box in his arms wasn't that heavy but he strained to reach around its corners; he stumbled stepping through the doorway. This box was one of the biggest, but it didn't rattle and clunk the way some of the others did. Liam tried hefting it to get a more comfortable grip, then gave up and lowered it to the ground to catch his breath and regain some feeling in his muscles.

The rain was starting to pelt down and he was glad this was the last trip he would have to make.

Alan grinned. "Santa's come early to the lab. Must have gotten our wish list."

"There's another group," Liam said, catching sight of figures growing more distinct as they neared the building. This lot looked bedraggled and damp; in spite of the downpour, they trudged along at a weary pace.

Alan took in the group. "Coming in with Hosteen. Nothing gets past that man. That makes how many? Five? Six?"

"Seven," said Liam.

Seven groups of refugees had arrived since the artifact was stolen. The news they brought was unsettling. Many spoke of a creeping uneasiness, unable to put their finger on what exactly was wrong—rumors, strangers scouting small towns, a lingering frisson in the atmosphere, supermarkets and shops half-emptied of merchandise and no one interested in restocking them, people disappearing suddenly only to reappear and behave as if nothing unusual was happening. They all arrived bearing the same tale; a man who told them where they might find safety: Jeremiah Smith.

They weren't turned away—but some of the adults argued Jeremiah could be sending spies. Only Gibson's ability to confirm their stories, prevented the campers casting away the newcomers.

There were never any children in the groups and Liam had had little to do with them; putting them out of his mind, he resumed his task for the day. When he had his box up and ready, he grinned. "Last one! Race you to the finish line!"

The scientists were up to something in the bowels of the compound; whatever it was, it wasn't science though; more like moving stuff around. Liam had been toting boxes down two flights of stairs all afternoon and each time he got to the bottom he would see scientists with their heads together, pouring over plans and pointing.

As he moved down the long corridor, he had to avoid people shifting trays and trolleys from one room to another. Looking ahead he could see Major Drummond at Dr Scully's side. She was pointing at the thick sheets of clear plastic that had been hung across the hall, forming a curtain.

Liam had been told under no uncertain circumstances was he to go beyond the curtain.

Halfway along, another shape pushed past him and he recognized one of the scientists he knew to be an engineering expert. Liam goggled when he saw the object in the man's hand. It emitted crackles and pops.

"Is that?" The words almost got strangled in his throat.

Alan's brows went up. "A Geiger counter? Yeah, I think it is."

"Why?"

"Just a precaution," Alan replied. "One of many, as you can see. Some of the new equipment isn't so new—you could say we picked up in an online junk sale—and some of it had to be disassembled to get it here safely. They're just checking to make sure the microscope is calibrated correctly and up and running properly."

"Since when did you need a Geiger counter to check a microscope?"

"It's not just any microscope, Liam. It's one to help us find and see viruses. It was Scully's idea. We had to fight Drummond tooth and nail to get it, but in the end, even he had to see the necessity of it; we need to be able to study the sick supersoldier," Alan said.

It was no longer a secret the camp was holding two alien supersoldiers prisoner. And it was no secret the male supersoldier was a friend of Dr Scully's ... and his condition was deteriorating.

Liam had stopped resenting his punishment when he realized how much came gossip he was picking up—like Dr Scully's belief that the supersoldier had a common viral infection and maybe that knowledge could be turned to their advantage.

"Why did you have to fight to get what you need? I thought Major Drummond _wanted_ us to study the supersoldiers?"

"Well, sure he did. But that was before he realized studying unknown viruses isn't without risk. We don't know anything about the supersoldier's infection. We're just guessing it's a virus. We don't know if it's contagious; we don't know if it's contagious to humans. If we want to study the virus, there's precautions we should take. Normally, this kind of work would be done in a special lab with equipment especially designed to make this sort of study as safe as possible; we can't afford to do that. But there are things we can do to minimize those risks and still do our job—the one we've been wanting to do all along."

The conversation between the doctor and the Major was drawing to a finish, and the Major was moving back towards Liam and Alan. Dr Scully fell in beside him, and people pressed themselves against the walls to let them through.

"I can see you've done everything you can down here, Dana, but that doesn't answer my other question," the Major said. "Every day we keep him intact he poses an unknown threat to all of us. What if whatever he's got suddenly jumps ship and infects all of us directly?"

"Perhaps we should all just give up, pack our bags, and go home now then," Dr Scully snapped. "You wanted answers. How did you think we were going to get them?"

Major Drummond sighed. "I just want us to be certain this is what we should be doing."

Dr Scully watched him go, shaking her head. Her face brightened when she saw Liam. "Just the person I needed to see."

He stacked the last box with the others. "Can I see what's in them, Dr Scully?"

He was disappointed when she opened one of the smaller ones and removed even smaller green boxes. The box had a picture on it.

"Gloves?" Hardly worth any excitement. But they couldn't all contain gloves—that much he knew.

She smiled. "Are you finished now? I need to take a DNA swab from you ... and some blood."

The pit of his stomach seized: he knew what she was going to do, and why. If the supersoldier had a virus, they'd want to know where it came from. But what if she found something? What if she worked out there was something wrong with _him—_ something not normal. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone other than Ellie, but at the back of his mind, he harbored the fear brought on by his nightmare. To cover his panic he nodded in a knowing manner, pretending he wasn't scared as heck. "To make sure I didn't give him the infection?"

Dr Scully had nodded, then she blinked and her eyes crinkled in momentary surprise before she smiled (not quite as broadly) again. "Something like that."

"How is he today, Dr Scully?"

"Why don't we ask Mulder?" She looked around him; Liam turned. Mulder was weaving his way to them, surveying the bustle with interest.

"So it's nearly ready?" he asked.

"We'll start tomorrow," Dr Scully replied.

"Drummond's still apprehensive." Liam wondered if Mulder and the Major had run into each other on the stairs.

Dr Scully snorted. "It was his idea in the first place."

"I can understand why he's concerned—there are plenty of others here who can do it, Scully."

Dr Scully's face was impassive as she regarded Mulder. "I'll be fine. I'm far more worried about John."

Mulder panned the hallway with an inscrutable expression. His gaze stopped at the plastic curtains and a dark look flashed across his face. Liam only glimpsed it and it was gone.

"Talking about our patient—no miracles today. His scratches and abrasions are still healing but far more slowly than they were. He spends more time on his ass staring at the soil falling in on him these days, but that's another thing to think about. That shaft isn't going to hold much longer. Part of the wall's already caved in. He might end up burying himself. His thoughts are still chaotic; the only sense Gibson keeps getting is the thought he wants to go home."

"But what—and where—is home for him?" Dr Scully said. "And where is Monica?"

The doctor was looking up the stairwell as she spoke. She didn't see Mulder wince, but Liam did.

* * *

The weeks dragged on. Time and waiting eroded the sense of hope and purpose that had filled the camp at the scientists' initial flurry of activity.

A late season of thunderstorms meant the afternoons were often too unpleasant to venture out for anything more than a quick run. The fine days were often broken up by afternoon curfews; it seemed to Liam the threat of satellites and drones had increased although his parents said he was letting his imagination get the better of him.

Still more small groups of newcomers trickled in, filling the dormitories to capacity and forcing rationing of water and food. There was tepid water only for showering and even electricity use was restricted. Despite the increasing number of people now living at the camp, an almost unanimous vote decided they should not relax their rules about housing people above ground (Gibson being the exception).

There had been no word of any breakthrough in the lab. Liam seldom saw Dr Scully and Ellie complained about her parents being "downstairs" a lot. The only good news seemed to be that no one had caught the supersoldier's sickness. Regardless, Liam hadn't been allowed back down since the day he delivered the boxes.

After his punishment for helping Jeremiah came to an end, Liam's sources for camp gossip had dried up. He hated not knowing what was going on.

He knew he shouldn't do it, but when he overheard his mother and Mrs Scully discussing the newcomers during an afternoon art class, he sidled closer.

"There's talk if anymore turn up we may need to set them up on stretchers in here," Mrs Scully was saying. "Madeleine and Walter set off this morning to top up our emergency rations. As it is Thanksgiving's going to be a stretch."

"Oh well," his mother replied, "I suppose we'll deal with it the same way we've coped with everything else."

Mrs Scully put a lid on an orange marker and selected a brown one from a barrel. Everyone—teachers included—was making decorations for the tables in the mess hall. As she started coloring in a pumpkin, she said, "It amazes me how well you've taken all of this, Marie."

Liam's mother made a face. "All of what?"

Mrs Scully put the marker down. "This." She spread her hands. "Life hiding in the desert. Preparing for an invasion no sane person would believe in."

Mrs van de Kamp tipped back her head and laughed. "We're in the same boat, wouldn't you say?"

"I've had a few years to acclimate to the notion," Mrs Scully said. "Dana and Fox never said much about the work they were involved in—but then, they didn't have to. I'd have been a fool not to put two and two together. Strange things always seemed to be happening to them and around them. I began readying myself years ago for a sudden upheaval. Walter turned up at my house in August with Madeleine and he didn't even have to say anything. I knew. Even if other members of my family refused to believe, I knew."

She went silent. Liam recalled Dr Scully had brothers; he wondered where they were.

Marie shrugged. "What gets me is just how much 'normal' has changed. This place really _is_ a haven. I see those people arriving ... the world's changed, Margaret. People didn't used to look like that—haunted, bewildered—as though they woke up to a world gone crazy but can't work out what's wrong. Something's going on out there—it's _that_ I can't imagine. But normal? My last trip into town—I was really looking forward to it—and then it hit me."

Mrs Scully leaned forward. "In what way?"

"It's difficult to explain ... I mean, there I was in a supermarket, wandering the aisles, loading this cart, filled with a sense of my own mission." Her short laugh was mirthless. "I stopped in the frozen section just to cool down and there were people buying cat food and toilet paper and bread and whatever you mind. And there I was looking at them buying so-called normal things and thinking how not-normal it was; that people could be going about their lives not knowing something incredible was happening, when really it was in front of their eyes the whole time."

She sighed. "I don't expect I've explained that very well. Normal for me now is teaching a bunch of children underground at an abandoned military camp." She chuckled. "Normal is waking up and hoping the cure to alienization might be announced today. Do you think they'll cure it—him?"

Mrs Scully settled back in her chair. "They're not interested in a cure."

"Oh."

"Dana—whenever I see her these days—says his condition is still deteriorating. If he were human, he'd be dead by now. He doesn't appear to sleep, he hasn't eaten or had a drink in days."

"I heard they were discussing euthanasia."

Mrs Scully held her picture up and studied it. "I feel for Dana. Where others see an opportunity, she sees a friend suffering. There's been talk of putting him down—yes. Some are calling it a mercy killing, but others have suggested that John be "dismantled" instead: destroy all but a small part of him—just in case they need something from him again in the future. Dana is resistant; she can't bring herself to give up on her friend—but she can't stand to see him in pain. Their priorities are clear; the interests of the camp don't lie in saving the enemy's life."

"But don't they need to keep him alive? For further study?"

"That's just it." Mrs Scully leaned in and her voice dropped. "You won't have heard yet—Dana thinks they've discovered the virus causing his condition. She says now they have it they won't need him to grow more of the virus."

* * *

Dr Scully made a rare appearance in the mess hall the following night for a late Thanksgiving dinner.

Liam had eaten earlier, but his father had just come in from a patrol and Marie insisted they spend the evening together. Dr Scully entered the hall with her mother and Mulder. Mrs Scully greeted Marie and the three of them were invited to sit at the van de Kamps' table.

Supplies were being meted out frugally these days, so Liam had been excited to see a tiny portion of turkey on his plate. Dr Scully didn't seem to notice.

Watching her out of the corner of his eye, Liam decided the doctor was not happy; she toyed with her food, stabbing it with her fork and moving it around on the plate in a haphazard fashion. She hardly looked like a person who had just made a huge breakthrough.

Liam wasn't the only one keeping an eye on the doctor; Mulder, his plate scraped clean and pushed to one side, looked grim every time his gaze fell on her restless hands.

"I think it's time." Dr Scully tipped her fork and let peas fall from it one by one.

"Time?" Mulder asked.

"I don't like seeing him this way." She looked him in the eye. "We've extracted what we can from him. Short of doing a live autopsy, there's little more use he can be to us."

"Scully ..." Mulder didn't try to hide his shock.

Mrs Scully, in conversation with Liam's mother, stopped mid-sentence. "What are you saying, Dana?"

Scully's gaze didn't move from Mulder's face. "You've supported me in this so far, Mulder; please—don't stop now."

He looked torn. They went on as if no one else was in the room.

"Scully, I know it's painful to see him, but surely there's still more you can learn from him."

"If that were you, what would you want me to do?" She fired the challenge at him.

"That _was_ me once," he said so quietly Liam doubted anyone else heard it.

Scully resumed swirling the vegetables around the plate. "He wouldn't want to live this way."

Around him, Liam could feel the discomfort rolling off his parents and Mrs Scully. Their heads were bent low.

"You think we should kill him." His tone of voice turned cold, matter-of-fact.

"End his suffering."

Mulder's face twisted.

"Scully, you don't wanna do this."

"Mulder—"

"You can save him, Scully. I know you can. You brought _me_ back from the grave."

"How many miracles can one person ask for? Expect?" she said. "Why are you making this even harder than it should be?"

"I don't want you doing something you'll flog yourself over later. There's been too much of that, Scully."

Mrs Scully shot a glance at Liam then seemed to recoil when she realized he was looking at her.

Dr Scully drew a deep breath. "I've made my mind up. It's selfish of me to hang on to him." She pushed her plate away and rose. "It can be done tonight."

She started to walk away from the table.

Liam waited for Mulder to do something. His face was dark, rippling with indecision and pain. He opened his mouth. "Monica."

Dr Scully stopped, the table deathly still.

"Monica says you know how to save him."

The doctor's head turned slightly. "Monica? Mulder, I don't under—"

"She wants you to try to save him. She says only you'd believe ..."

Mulder got up and edged to Dr Scully. She was shaking her head.

"Monica's ... She's probably ... Please don't do this—"

He put his hands on her shoulders.

"Scully, I'm sorry. I—I haven't been able to talk about it. .. In ten years time, you're going to look back on what I say next and you're going to find it hilariously funny ... Scully?"

She said nothing.

"I see dead people." He tried to smile.

A change instantaneous and terrible swept across her face. Dr Scully's eyes expressed a torrent of emotion and at a guess none of it very good. They blazed with what looked like pure rage.

"What?" She made it sound like a snarl.

Mulder withdrew his hands. "I've been seeing—talking—to her ever since we caught Doggett. She's talking to me right now. She's saying she knows you're angry and confused and—"

"How long?" Her voice was low and dangerous.

He didn't have to ask what she meant. "On and off since—since ... you can guess."

"Who?"

He knew exactly what she wanted to know. "Monica, the Gunmen"—Scully winced—"X, Deep Throat, Garrett de Rosier—he's the only one I never met—" He threw a guilty look back at the table.

It was like someone had punched Liam in the stomach. Mr de Rosier? Liam had waited for weeks for the tall old man to turn up.

"Krycek."

Dr Scully's face hardened; her shoulders rose and fell in anger; she was keeping the storm in check—but only just.

"Scully?" Mulder seemed unaware of the danger or had braced himself against it because he wasn't ready to give up. "Monica says she wants you to do everything you can to save John. She says you saved my life, you can save his."

Wordlessly, she spun about and stormed out the mess hall door.

o0o

Winter, which had been threatening for so long, arrived unexpectedly and suddenly overnight. Snow covered the mountains surrounding them and the chill above and below ground was inescapable.


	21. Chapter 21

December 25, 2011  
New Mexico

Liam opened his eyes to the darkness, rolled from his bed and, scrambling into a sweater, slid open the door onto their tiny living quarters.

His parents weren't up—they never woke before he did on Christmas Day.

He danced on his toes and bit his lip, wondering what he should do. Back home he always went to the kitchen and prepared breakfast for everyone because the rule was no presents until breakfast was eaten and the dishes were away. Here, old rules didn't always make sense. Habits were hard to break, however; he dashed out the door, made a detour to the bathroom, and encountered a steady stream of his friends heading to their classroom.

They flowed into the space with yells and laughter which grew even louder when someone flicked on the lights.

The tables and chairs had been stacked and pushed to one side. Homemade green and red decorations festooned doorways and piled furniture, and at the head of the room—where Liam's mother's desk usually was—a giant green tree painted on brown paper went from the bottom of the wall to the top and spread wide.

He had been warned not to expect much this Christmas, but the volume of boxes and parcels stacked beneath the paper tree hinted he would get more than he expected.

The littlest children—more were appearing every second—ran forward with squeals and were reaching for and touching the parcels before anyone could stop them. His responsibility gear kicked in and Liam found himself persuading a five-year-old they should wait until everyone else arrived so they could share the fun.

"It's okay to look, but if you open it now, Santa might get his elves to steal it back." He doubted anything less than a threat would work, such was the intent on the kid's face.

The boy sneered at him. "No, he won't."

Liam looked up in relief when a figure towered over them.

"How do you know?" Mulder asked, sucking on a candy cane. He was dressed for outside in a thick coat and boots that glistened to say he had already been topside this morning. When the other children became aware of him, they gave each other uneasy glances, uncertain if they had been caught doing something naughty.

Not the five-year-old though.

"Because Santa's just made up." He poked his tongue out. All the same, under Mulder's bemused stare, he lowered the parcel and backed away before he broke into a scamper.

"Jeez. They only come with fangs these days?" Mulder asked, watching the kid retreat to the back of the room where another adult had appeared and was passing out more candy canes.

Liam lifted the label on the box and laughed. "It wasn't even for him—unless his name's really Isabella."

Yawning parents started to trickle through the door. Mrs Scully, still in dressing gown and slippers, spied Liam and Mulder and made a beeline towards them.

She gave Mulder an appraising look. "You're up early."

"I had to see this for myself. It's one of the planet's great migrations. Are we sure these kids aren't operated by remote control? They zeroed in on the tree like it was sending out radio signals."

"It has to be seen to be believed," Mrs Scully agreed. "Is Dana up? She shouldn't miss this."

Mulder rubbed a hand through his hair. "She's at the lab—"

"Today?" The sharpness of her exclamation startled Liam.

"I think she's onto something—she won't tell me what but she's been at the lab before 5am most mornings."

Mrs Scully made a face. "I don't care how close she is to some breakthrough, Fox—she'll regret not being here today."

"Don't worry, Maggie—I have a plan." Mulder turned to Liam. "Wanna come for a walk?"

They set out at a determined pace. Mulder didn't have to say where they were going.

"Is Dr Scully still mad at you?" Liam asked.

"First of all, Scully was never really mad at me—she was temporarily out-of-sorts because of a situation she had no control over."

"And now she's not telling you stuff because you wouldn't tell her stuff."

"That's close enough to the mark." Mulder grinned. "But that doesn't necessarily mean she's mad at me. Scully doesn't know how to stay mad at people—most of the time—she just finds ways to avoid having to pretend they exist."

"I don't blame her for being angry," Liam said. As much as he liked Mulder, he thought Dr Scully had a right to feel hurt. "Keeping secrets is sometimes just as bad as telling lies—and that was some secret."

Word of Mulder's admission hadn't leaked beyond those who witnessed it; his parents were too respectful to spread stories about neighbors, and if Mrs Scully had told anyone, they'd kept their mouths shut. With no one to discuss it, Liam couldn't decide if he truly believed Mulder's secret. When Mulder had told him months ago, he assumed he was joking—or there was something more to the story.

But Dr Scully had had no doubts. Not for one second. As soon as she had heard the words, she believed him.

After she stormed from the mess hall, Mulder had run to chase her. What they talked about when he caught up to her remained between the couple. All Liam knew was that now, several weeks later, the supersoldier was still at the bottom of the pit and Dr Scully had rejected any suggestion of ending his life.

Stories had gone around camp that she had sought ideas on how to keep the supersoldier as cool as possible (the weather seemed to be helping naturally with that in any case); that had been just after Mulder's confession. If there was any more news on the supersoldier's condition, Liam hadn't heard it.

And although Dr Scully may have believed Mulder, weeks later, she still didn't seem ready to forgive him, spending little time with him at mealtimes and contributing little to conversations with him.

"If you would've just told Dr Scully at the start, none of this would have happened."

"It's a little late for advice, kid. Anyway—where's all this coming from? The master secret-keeper himself—Liam?" Mulder put a hand out as Liam stumbled.

"Just tripped." Liam waved away his help. "I'm alright."

"Was that literally a Freudian slip?" Mulder said, straight-faced.

Liam pretended not to get the reference. He didn't really know who Freud was, but he knew what Mulder was getting at. Mulder didn't know how Liam had been feeling these past weeks; he would have been referring to Jeremiah and all those conversations Liam had eavesdropped on. _That's what he meant by secret-keeper_.

Liam rushed to deflect attention from his stumble.

"I felt much better after I told Mom and Dad everything."

Only, he hadn't told them everything—or each time he did, another, bigger secret came along to take its place. Maybe this was his opportunity, a chance to tell someone about his fears: about his connection to all the weird things happening; how he seemed to know what Sal was thinking; how sometimes he'd swear he knew whether Jerry the frog was happy or not; how Jeremiah was convinced the supersoldier would not hurt him; how Liam was starting to wonder if ...

He couldn't finish the thought; he didn't even want to think the words in his head. _Think how stupid they would sound out aloud._ He couldn't start that conversation even if he really wanted to.

Maybe Mulder had an excuse after all.

He hurried on. "All I mean is, it takes a lot of effort to keep a secret. Even though it's bad, at least she knows now. She'll get used to the idea."

Liam did a mental check. _Should I take those words back?_ How could anyone ever get used to the idea of seeing dead people? He couldn't resist the question. "How do you know it's not all in your head?"

Mulder shrugged. "I don't, but they haven't lied to me so far."

"Are they okay? Can they tell you what happened to them—how—when they died? Mr de Rosier didn't die because he helped us, did he?"

Mulder's pat on his back was sympathetic. "It doesn't work that way, Liam. They're not there all the time. And when they are, we don't just have a normal, everyday conversation. Mostly they tell me things they think I need to know—which isn't always what I want to hear."

"Wow—that's inconsiderate."

Mulder laughed.

"Did that lady tell you why she wanted us to save the supersoldier?"

"Monica? Not exactly—but if I had to guess. Hmmm—" Mulder studied him. "Maybe if you need to ask why, you're not old enough to know."

Liam frowned, fighting an urge to stamp his foot.

"That's—oh. She was his girlfriend? Is that what you mean?" He trotted to catch up with Mulder. "But you said they tell you things you need to know. If she thought Dr Scully could save the supersoldier, why didn't she tell her how?"

"What makes you think she didn't?"

"But—" Liam gave a small grunt of annoyance. "But the supersoldier's still sick."

"He's not getting any worse—"

"He's just not getting any better, right?"

There was no way Mulder could disagree with him. Everyone knew it.

"Is Dr Scully working on a cure for him—is that why she been working so hard?"

"Yes and no. Saving Doggett is like an extracurricular activity since no one else is that keen on seeing him survive—they're just too scared to argue with her. Mostly she's been working on another project. Do you know how vaccines are made?"

Liam wrinkled his nose. "I read about that. Don't they use viruses? They inject a small bit into your body and your body learns to fight it."

"That sounds about right."

"I get it—Dr Scully's trying to make a vaccine using the supersoldier."

"Got it in one, kid. The way the supersoldier virus works, by the time you turn into a supersoldier—by the time anyone knows that's what's happening to you—all of the virus in you is already dead. They tried making a vaccine from the dead virus but that didn't work. After they started looking for the virus that made Doggett sick, however, they discovered something new. They _think_ they've found the live virus—not the one making him sick now—the one that made him a supersoldier."

"Two viruses? That's great news, isn't it?" Liam asked. "So they can make a vaccine from the second one?"

"That's the hope."

When they reached the flight of stairs leading down, Liam balked.

"Aren't we supposed to stay away from the lab?"

"We're not going far," Mulder replied. True to his word, they stopped at the bottom of the stairs where he called out. "Scully?"

It took a moment for her to appear and not until Mulder had turned the hallway light on and off several times. She appeared halfway down the corridor. She had on a white lab coat and didn't come any closer.

Her arms were stiff at her sides and her hands were sunk deep in the pockets of her coat. "What is it, Mulder?"

"You're going to miss Christmas, Dr Scully," Liam said, pushing in front of his friend.

"The lab's not going anywhere," Mulder said. "It won't hurt you to spend a day away."

"Mulder—"

"You want to punish me, fine—but don't punish yourself, Scully. Don't punish your family."

At this distance Liam could just make out the twisting on her face.

"Damn it, Mulder. This is important; we're so close—"

"It can wait." He wasn't giving her a choice. To ignore him would have bleak consequences. "There are other people to consider."

Liam wanted to warn him that wasn't the way to do it—to go kinder. It wouldn't be any fun if Dr Scully scowled the day away because she felt she had been forced.

The standoff reached breaking point, and then the doctor's shoulders heaved. She released a breath of resignation and peeled back the gloves on her hands before leaning into the lab to toss them away.

By the time she joined them, the cold anger Mulder had put in his voice had disappeared, and the doctor wore a weak, remorseful smile.

"You've got to see it to believe it, Scully. At the sight of the Christmas Tree some of those kids went feral. It was like a trip to the zoo." He rubbed his hands, gleeful. "Oh, and you'll never believe who's playing Santa's elf. Wait"—he turned with a worried face—"you're too old to believe in Santa Claus, aren't you, Liam? I haven't just spoiled Christmas for you?"

"Haha," Liam replied just as Dr Scully said, "who?"

Mulder mouthed a name.

"Skinner?" Dr Scully snorted. "Well, why didn't you just say so? I wouldn't miss that for the world."

Whatever Dr Scully was really feeling, Liam had to hand it to her. Her smile may have been like a mask that didn't quite reach her eyes, but she kept it on as they traveled back to the hall, and she even played along with Mulder's joking.

The closer they got to the hall, the louder the echo of chatter became. A figure waiting at the entrance stepped forward when she saw them approach.

"Oh, thank goodness." Marie put her hand on her heart. "Margaret said you'd gone to get Dr Scully. I thought you were going to miss this—everyone else is here."

Woolen bed blankets had been strewn across the floor and families all mixed up together, sitting picnic-style, filled the room almost to overflowing. Just about everyone living at the camp was there—only those who had volunteered for guard duty, and people like Gibson and Rudi, who didn't like social occasions, were absent.

Mrs van de Kamp weaved through the throng, leading them to a couple of rugs close to the front. Liam's dad and Mrs Scully, both still in dressing gowns, waved them over. Sal sat next to Mr van de Kamp, her tail swishing against the rug.

When Liam dropped down crossed-legged, his dad tousled his hair. "Can't stop you having adventures, can we, son?"

"I only went to get—" He broke off when he realized his dad was teasing him.

Before he could say another word, the door to the store room that he and Ellie had once hidden in sprang open and a man dressed as Santa stepped out, inciting squeals and screams from the smallest children. (Even the five-year-old Liam had argued with, Liam noted.)

No one was too old for Santa (obviously Major Drummond) and his elf helper, who seemed to find something for everyone under the paper tree.

Liam studied his own presents with satisfaction: a tiny magnetic game board (small enough to fit in the palm of his hand easily); a pocket knife; a Maglite; sneakers and clothing, including a sweater, which he suspected came from Mrs Scully because he remembered seeing the same colored yarn on her needles once.

His mother made him stand up so she could hold his new (second hand) pair of jeans against him. The legs grazed the floor but she looked pleased. "You've shot up, Liam. I can take the hems down on your old clothes, but at least it'll take you a while to grow out of these."

His parents took delight in their own small gifts. Liam had made them both large photo frames by decorating stiff cardboard and filled them with pictures of life at the camp. He had done something similar for Mulder and the Scullys, making them 2012 calendars using more photos. Even Sal got to share in the excitement with a bag of bones.

"Here's one more with your name on it, Liam," Mr Skinner said, handing over the small rectangular parcel just as Mulder reached out to tweak the drooping bell on the end of his elf hat. Mr Skinner glared at Mulder.

Dr Scully bit her lip. "That one's from us."

By the feel of it, Liam knew it was a book. He picked off the tape strip by strip and opened out the newsprint wrapping paper. Inside lay a well-thumbed, tattered paperback. Liam read the title: _Ender's Game_.

"It isn't new, I'm sorry," Dr Scully said. "I had a new copy of _Holes,_ but then your mother told me you had that already, and I—I wanted to get you something you hadn't read."

Liam leafed through the book. It was clear she had tried to smooth out the bent corners and tape had been neatly applied to an inner page with a tear. The blurb didn't say much about the story; he flipped it to examine the cover again. A tiny pilot in a spacesuit was looking at a moon.

Dr Scully still looked anxious and he wanted to reassure her.

"Thank you," he said. "I know I'm going to love it."

For the first time that day, he thought the mask disappeared from her face. Her eyes smiled.

After the presents were opened, everyone cleared away the wrapping paper and ribbons, then Liam and his classmates divided the scraps into two boxes—one for reusable things, one for rubbish—while some of the adults set up for a Christmas Day service. As services went, it was fairly informal (they sat on the floor again, not bothering to bring out the long seats). For once Mulder stayed for the service, smirking when Dr Scully accused him of using it as an excuse not to help in the kitchen.

The service over, Marie told Liam to put his gifts away and come back after he'd had a proper wash. By midday they were lining up in the mess hall for Christmas dinner.

The meal was even better than Thanksgiving; there was plenty of cranberry sauce to go with the turkey, and the vegetables weren't the dehydrated ones from packets. There was no cream or ice cream, but Liam was able to drown a small slice of apple pie in custard. There were even little fried potato cakes and donuts filled with jam—prepared for Hanukkah celebrations, into which Christmas fell slap bang in the middle this year.

He hadn't felt this stuffed in forever. Liam was simultaneously rubbing his tummy while eying up a third helping of pie, when three familiar heads bobbed their way through the room. Alan Hirsh's dreadlocks were unmistakable. He was flanked by Toby, and oddly, Gibson.

Mulder watched them enter from under droopy eyes. "The three wise men." Like Liam, he looked as if he'd made the most of dinner.

Toby shoulder-tapped Dr Scully and she turned in surprise. Grins as wide as their faces, he handed over one photo while Alan presented another.

"Merry Christmas," they said.

Gibson hung back; Liam wondered if his being there was coincidental. He didn't appear interested in the photos or the students. A thrill went through Liam. Dr Scully's hands tightened as she studied the images. She looked at one, then she flicked to the other, then back again.

"Is this—?"

Toby nodded. "Dr Scully, meet Mr Virus— _and_ his close friend Mr Antibody."

Her hands shook. "That's—"

"That's not all." Gibson took a brusque step forward. Utensils went down and talking stopped. "John's asking for you."

Color drained from her cheeks and the doctor gave a small shake of her head. "Did you say ..."

The hint of a smile on Gibson's face was unnatural; so was the kindness in his voice. "I said _John's_ asking for you—"

Dr Scully was already on her feet and hurrying to the exit, Mulder two paces behind her.

Space had been made in the hall so those who hadn't gone to sleep off Christmas dinner had room to play as many different games as they could think of—even a rough game of musical chairs that involved some good-natured trickery and cheating, and a crazy game of hide and seek where they scuttled on hands and knees between the legs of stacked furniture. As he raced to grab a chair or find the best hiding place, his thoughts on Gibson's announcement raced in his head.

Dr Scully and Mulder were gone for more than an hour, but when they returned the change in the doctor was magical.

She hugged her mother and grabbed Mr Skinner's hand, spinning him around.

"It's him. It's _really_ him," Liam heard her saying. "Monica was right. The solution was to lower his temperature—the same thing we did for Mulder. The implications, Skinner! Just think what this could mean."

Her mood was infectious; the news about the supersoldier known as John Doggett set the camp on fire with excitement, until word also got out that the scientists were confident they had unlocked the key to a vaccine, and then Liam wondered if the adults had gone insane. A laptop with speakers appeared and Alan ordained himself DJ for the afternoon.

Dr Scully laughed, she danced, there wasn't a game she didn't join in and when at last, no one had any energy to do more than flop on the floor, Liam and Ellie started reading _Ender's Game_ out aloud, complete with serious voices for all the characters.

Those that were hungry went off for an informal evening meal—leftovers in sandwiches. But Liam didn't think he could stuff another bite in his mouth today after all he had eaten. With the room emptying out, Liam got Dr Scully and Mulder talking about what they usually did for Christmas, and that's when they started telling him stories from their days at the FBI. They even had a Christmas tale that involved ghosts and a haunted mansion.

Ellie and Liam lay on their stomachs, heads resting on chins while the couple—Dr Scully's head on Mulder's shoulder, his arm around her while he leaned up against the leg of a desk—shared the story. One could not speak for the other laughing and disagreeing or picking at details.

"And so"—Mulder eyed the doctor, daring her to interrupt one last time—"there we were dragging ourselves through our own pools of blood, desperate to get to the door to escape the ghosts' evil—"

Dr Scully giggled. "I still can't believe you shot me!"

"Maybe I just wanted to even things up?" His hand entwined hers as he spoke. "You know, it's just struck me, Scully. Is this really a story we should be telling the children?"

"It does have more of a Halloween ring to it ..."

Ellie considered the suggestion. "It really _isn't_ a very good Christmas story."

"But it's okay about the blood and stuff," Liam said. "Like, it's not a real story because ghosts don't exist."

Scully was inexplicably smug as Mulder suffered a coughing fit.

"Whoa," he said, holding his hand to his chest. The doctor gave him a helpful pat on the back. "Just drive a stake through my heart, Liam. Do you remember any of that conversation we had this morning?"

Liam sat up, perplexed. "But—it's just a story, right?" In his mind he had never connected the idea that the people Mulder saw and spoke to might be, well, _ghosts_. "You didn't rule out the possibility it was all in your head."

Then, out of concern that he had insulted his friend, he tried to backtrack. He thought they were just making things up—just telling stories to entertain him. There was no way any of it could be true—vampires! Alien worms! A man-sized flukeworm! Scary clone girls! Evil computers!

"Ghosts _might_ be real," he said, hoping it sounded like a genuine concession. "It's hard to believe in them without proof ..."

"Like scientific proof?" Dr Scully asked.

"Yes, scientific proof would be good. Or maybe if I saw one—I'd probably believe in ghosts if I saw one."

That brought an inexplicable grin to Mulder's face.

It was the doctor's turn to frown. "Seeing isn't always believing, Liam."

"You're the expert in that, Scully," Mulder said.

She punched him on the shoulder. He winced, but it didn't knock the expression off his face.

"Not that I think I'll actually ever see one," Liam answered, now having to backpedal for both of them. "Mulder's probably a special case"—Dr Scully sniggered—"but wouldn't it be awful if ghosts did exist and we kept saying they didn't because we never went looking? Shouldn't we at least look?"

Dr Scully put her hand to her chin. "It's good to search for answers," she said, "but it's also important to recognize our own human limitations and set a provable, quantifiable threshold against which we hold our judgments to ensure we don't allow our deficiencies to blind us—"

Mulder cut in with a yawn. "To the possibilities?"

"—or let us see what we desire so desperately to believe," she finished.

Mulder stared up at the ceiling. "Is this our version of the family Christmas argument, Scully? Some people argue about economics or race, others battle wars over politics or religion—"

"We end up debating the finer points of the paranormal? You may be onto something, Mulder." Now she was yawning. She slipped further against him and he enclosed her in the full circle of his arms.

Eyes closed, he said, "Kid's pretty sharp, isn't he?"

A little smile tugged on her lips. "He's a credit to his parents." Her brow furrowed, but the tiny lopsided grin remained. "All of them."

Watching them made Liam remember he'd been up for hours. As he and Ellie were rising to their feet, he heard Mulder ask, "Happy?"

The smile on Dr Scully's face was her own; the mask had been thrown away hours before.

"Happiest."

Liam put off going to the bathroom as long as he could; the words and chapters of _Ender's Game_ were flying beneath his hands. Eventually his bladder won out and he was forced to run to the bathroom. Christmas Day was nearly over, which made him sad. The way he sometimes just _knew_ things, he knew this was one Christmas he would never forget.

As he burst through the door of the bathroom, he was instantly aware of the doctor standing at a sink with her hands scrubbing at something. She flinched on seeing him, but the smile she had worn earlier sprang back. He came a little closer and was surprised to see a rivulet of red spiral down the plug hole. Then he saw her reflection in the mirror and he gasped.

"Dr Scully, are you okay? Your nose is bleed ..."

Obviously she didn't need him to point that out to her. She dabbed her nose with the sodden handkerchief again. When he saw her eyes in the mirror, they shone with joy—and something else. Something like desperation.

"Please don't worry, Liam," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was on the verge of tears or laughter. "I don't think I've ever had a better day."


	22. Chapter 22

January 1, 2012  
New Mexico

"Five, four, three, two, one! Happy New Year!"

Sal yelped as a bottle top popped. Around them people started to hug, kiss and sing as they rang in the New Year. 2012.

"Happy New Year, Liam." Ellie had to shout above the noise. She grabbed his hand and pulled him across the dance floor toward the exit, Sal padding behind them. "I've got an idea! Come on!"

The party was underground, of course. There would be no big fireworks display or bonfire to stand around or warm their hands against. Not that it mattered. Since Christmas it was like the grownups had won the lottery.

They were certainly celebrating New Year's as though they had. Even Liam's parents who had never before shown any interest in the holiday seemed—well—giddy as they danced about the room. Neither had remembered it was past his bedtime (and he had purposefully avoided them all evening not just because their behavior was embarrassing but in case they got any ideas).

He laughed, allowing Ellie to drag him along. "Where are we going?"

Ellie looked over her shoulder, her eyes shining. "To get our coats ... I haven't seen the stars in months."

They weren't the only ones with the same idea; they passed others as they bounded up the stairs. No one called them back or warned them to stay inside.

When they burst through the outside door they ran into friends. Alan, Toby, and Shu were among the semi-circle of faces staring at them under the building eaves.

Alan gave Liam a goofy smile. He was rugged up against the cold in a scratchy-looking scarf and beanie. He had on fingerless gloves and a thin whisper of smoke curled above his fingers. "Hey, it's Liam."

Liam stared. "I didn't know you smoked."

Toby grinned. "Just on special occasions, Liam."

Ellie had no intention of stopping to chat (or berate them). She dragged Liam on in the direction of the low ridge where he had first met her five months before. Liam felt his cheeks redden as they left the students; he couldn't hear their comments but he could hear their whistles and laughter.

If Ellie heard, she ignored them. Sal loped ahead. Overhead a half-moon shed brilliant light over the earth, making everything blue or gray or silvery. Liam held back, casting furtive looks into the darkness and wondering what it could be hiding.

"Come on, slow poke," Ellie called from the top of the hill. There, despite the cold, she sat and then flopped on her back to gaze skyward. When Liam caught up, he turned a full circle, scanning the area before dropping down next to her. Stars shone in a clear sky, flickering brilliance.

"I've missed this," Ellie said. "Did I tell you about my telescope at home?"

_One or two times,_ he thought. They talked about home. Never for very long, but long enough to learn the things each other missed most. The way she talked Liam guessed Ellie's collection of gadgets, toys and games would take up his entire house in Wyoming. He wasn't jealous—not really—he had looked through a telescope at school once when an amateur astronomer visited.

He was looking up when something nudged the crook of his arm. Sal sat on her haunches, her front left leg slightly raised.

"What is it, girl? Your paw? Did you get a splinter?"

Her expression was doleful.

"Let me see." Liam tickled her behind the ears, then manipulated her foot to get a better look at the fleshy pad. It was easy to see what was troubling her; a thick, sharp thorn protruded from the pad, the end broken off. Liam touched it to see if it could be dislodged and Sal whimpered.

"Sometimes you're just a big baby, Sal," he said, scratching her ears again. Swiftly his hands moved. He used his nails to pinch the tip of the thorn and then it was out. He rubbed her foot and held his other hand out under her nose. "All that fuss over a tiny little thing like that."

Sal sniffed. She licked his face, then her paw, then she bounded off again.

Ellie chuckled as she watched the dog race away. "Maybe Sal doesn't have special powers, but _you_ always seem to know what she's thinking. Do you wanna be a vet when you grow up, Liam?"

"Maybe." Lots of jobs interested him; he didn't know if he could be a farmer like his father, but he had always loved animals and he never liked to see them suffer.

"What about you?" he asked, lying back again. "Do you know what you want to be?"

"An astronaut would be pretty cool."

"I used to want to be an astronaut."

"But not anymore?"

When they studied space in school, he loved the subject—but he loved most of the things they learned at school; his fridge at home had layers of his pictures—from ancient fish bones (Kemmerer was famous for them) and dinosaurs, to the planets and a cloud diagram from when they looked at weather science.

"There's so much still to explore on earth. There's always something new to learn right here."

His world was full of mysteries that needed solving, puzzle pieces needing to be placed, strange insects to name and classify. Still, traveling to other worlds and solving new mysteries was an attractive idea, too.

"Liam, look!" Ellie pointed. Liam followed the line from the tip of her finger to the shower of sparkles. "A shooting star."

Her elbow dug into his ribs. "And another one!"

One by one tiny lights exploded and disintegrated into the blackness—a vastness they were no longer so alone in. Funny to think in all of limitless space, their planet had been discovered and aliens planned to invade it. He still didn't know if he really believed it. Not to worry. If what Gibson and Mulder said was true he'd know for sure by December.

"Ellie?" He laced his hands under his head. "Do you ever wonder where we'll be this time next year?"

She was quiet. She knew the December 22 date; everyone did. It was funny how no one wanted to talk about it. Colonization. Invasion. Extermination. No one really knew what any of it meant. Her reply, when she answered, hit Liam like icy water.

"Dad thinks we might not have to stay here much longer."

Liam started. "What?"

That was news. He hadn't heard anything about leaving. He pulled himself up onto his elbows, suddenly uneasy.

Ellie frowned at his jitters but continued.

"If they make a vaccine, there won't be any reason to stay. And if the virus that infected the supersoldier is contagious, that's even better. Dad says if the aliens can't turn us into supersoldiers, and if they can't control the supersoldiers, then we've probably won the war without even fighting. He says we couldn't ask for a better outcome."

It _sounded_ feasible. Liam let himself settle back to think about it. According to Jeremiah, the Grays needed humans infected by the virus—some to be supersoldiers, some to be ... something else. If humans were immune to the alien virus, there would be no point for the Grays to stay on earth, and if they couldn't control the supersoldiers and the supersoldiers rebelled ... if it was true, it would change everything. Was it too good to be true?

"Does your dad know if Doggett's virus is infectious yet?"

"He's pretty sure. They're thinking about infecting the other supersoldier—the one that's still cut up—and setting it free."

As he opened his mouth to point out the craziness of that plan, he remembered something peculiar about Doggett's behavior when he was ill. Since Christmas Day the supersoldier (who remained in the pit) would only talk to Dr Scully—she recorded their conversations so the others knew exactly what he had said—but so far he had refused to talk to anyone else. His memory was slow in returning. He knew who he was—and who Dr Scully and Skinner were—but the details of where he had been for the last five months were hazy. After her first serious conversation with him, Dr Scully had reported to the camp that his most recent memory was of a strong compulsion to return home, and that as he recalled this feeling he had pointed south. The same direction in the pit he had repeatedly scratched and walked into during his illness. She also reported that he spent much of his time curled in a ball at the bottom of the pit. Grieving, she said.

"They think the supersoldier will go back to wherever she came from?"

"And she'll infect other supersoldiers."

"That sounds dumb," Liam said. "They're not even sure Doggett really has been totally cured."

Questions still hung over the supersoldier's condition. Gibson had read his mind and backed up Dr Scully's opinion that the soldier was still recovering his memories—but those memories, sketchy as they were, came equal parts from his old life _and_ from the months following his transformation. In body he was still a supersoldier.

Ellie sat up. "They _know_ he hasn't been totally cured. He's still got that thing on the back of his neck. And they still haven't worked out a way of moving him from the hole without him blowing up. But they're willing to take the risk of releasing the other one. They say she wouldn't be able to pinpoint where the camp is and they would keep an eye on her to make sure she didn't come back."

Liam shivered despite Ellie's confidence.

"You're doing it again," she said.

"Doing what?"

"Ever since we came up you've been acting all nervous."

His laugh lacked conviction. "What do you mean?"

"Don't pretend you don't know." She sounded grumpy. It amazed him sometimes how much she knew about him.

"Okay—but it's weird." He took a deep, calming breath. "Do you ever feel like you're being watched?"

"Like how?"

"I've been getting this feeling. Like someone's following me. Like they're real curious about me."

"Yeah, well, they're not." She huffed into her hands, rubbing them together. "You know what it is? You're probably just too used to living underground, and you're probably stressed because of the supersoldiers. That's what Mom told Aaron when he refused to come outside last month. But you don't have to worry about that anymore, Liam. We've practically got a cure and a way to kill 'em."

Liam rolled his eyes, knowing she wouldn't see.

Oblivious, she said, "You know what you need to do?"

Liam was almost too scared to ask.

"You need an adventure, and I know what!"

He tried to refrain from grimacing. "What?"

"The hole."

Alarm bells rang in his head.

Ellie answered almost as if she was reading his mind. "Tomorrow's the perfect time. I bet everyone sleeps in. The supersoldiers don't seem like so much of a threat now. I'll bet we can slip away and be back before anyone notices we're gone. We won't be away long."

* * *

Ellie was right, dammit.

The corridor was silent when he stepped out from his family quarters in the morning. The few adults who were up walked around with bleary eyes and sheepish, squinting expressions.

Liam moved quietly so as not to wake his parents. They had arrived back the previous evening long after he had taken himself to bed—their uncharacteristic noisiness startling him out of sleep. He left a note to wish them a good morning and said he had gone to meet up with his friends and would be back for lunch. He hoped the note would stop them from panicking if they went looking for him before he and Ellie returned.

Ellie was pushing through the swinging doors to the kitchen, one arm cradling a plastic bag, when he reached the mess hall.

She handed him a brown-speckled banana. "We can eat breakfast on the way."

Although the day was bright and clear, the air was crisp. The tips of Liam's nose and ears burned in the cold. A frost crunched under his sneakers. He pulled his hat down more, appreciating its slightly too large size.

They didn't head out immediately but made their way to the slope where they had watched the stars the night before. It was the best position to see who might be around at this hour.

Ellie spied her opportunity straight away.

"Scully and Mulder," she said, nodding northward. "With ... it looks like Gibson with Rudi and Skinner. All heading in Doggett's direction. There's no one else around. If we've ever gonna go it might as well be now."

Liam took one last look across the compound. "Do you think anyone's on guard duty today?"

Ellie waved her hand. "Probably. But I don't think they have to worry so much now. _They_ still can't come here."

"Not unless they've developed an army of midget supersoldiers," Liam said.

"I hadn't thought of that. Anyway. They haven't."

Liam looked over his shoulder more than once as they crested the slope and trotted down the other side. The uneasy feeling was still there. He had known Ellie wouldn't believe him when he told her about being watched. It had just been over the last few days; he had thought about not saying anything—it wasn't like he didn't already have a list of weirdness as long as his arm already.

With one last glance he shrugged off the feeling. It wasn't as bad now. It came and went at all times of the day and night.

They struck out across the desert in the direction they had traveled the day they found Rudi. It didn't take long for them to pass the misshapen bush that marked their old boundary.

The walk didn't take as long as Liam remembered. They couldn't have been gone more than another ten minutes before they saw the hut they had sheltered in.

The hut was as empty now as it was then. It was impossible to say if anyone had been there since their last visit.

"It was that way, right?"

Liam studied the rocky hill Ellie was pointing at.

"More to the right," he said.

The hole hadn't been far away—maybe fifty paces at most. Liam counted them out in his head. At seventy he stopped, scratching his head. "I don't get it."

Ellie surveyed the spot. "Are you sure it was this way?"

"We should have seen it by now," he said.

He picked up a nearby stick.

"We weren't that far from the hut." Using the stick to scrape lines in the dirt, he formed a triangle. "If the hut was here, the hole was here and Rudi was about there."

They stared at the triangle.

"It should be here!" Liam jammed the stick into the ground and swung his foot at a stone, which went flying. It dropped to the earth with a clatter.

"Liam—" Ellie's grin said it all and they broke into a run.

They didn't have far to go; they both tripped at the same time.

"Awf." Liam rubbed his banged shin.

Ellie sucked in her breath and pulled up the legs of her jeans. Angry red dots were blossoming on her knees. She ignored them.

"This is it, isn't it?"

Liam was already wiping away the layer of dirt used to conceal the cover over the hole. It was just like the sheet of metal placed over Doggett's pit.

"Help me with this," he said, pulling a rope up out of the ground.

Strain and heave as they might, the cover barely budged. It didn't appear to be anchored or locked in place; it was just very heavy.

By the time Ellie groaned and fell to her already-sore knees, they had only pulled it about a foot. After another minute of futile tugging Liam gave up too.

They had uncovered just enough space for him to peer down into the black. It was too dark to see very far.

"Who do you think covered it?" Ellie asked.

"Who knows? Someone from camp probably."

She gasped and withdrew from the edge, whispering, "You don't think the other supersoldier is down there?"

"No." Liam made a point of leaning down even more so that his head went right into the hole. "Mulder told me they haven't put the other back together yet. Besides, there'd be someone guarding it if this is where they put the second one."

If the hole hadn't been covered, they would never have guessed anyone else had been here in months. Liam scouted around looking for any revealing tracks, but while the marks he and Ellie had left were fresh and obvious, there were no other signs the area had been disturbed by anything.

"Why do you think they covered it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe they thought it was dangerous? Or they didn't want anyone to stumble on it and start snooping around? Say, could you pass me that stone?"

"This one?" Ellie handed over a rock a little smaller than her palm.

"How deep do you think it is?" Liam let the stone drop. They froze, waiting to hear the small thump of the stone hitting the bottom. Liam could make out a soft hiss of breeze through thistles around them but the hole had nothing to say.

Ellie dropped another stone.

Did he hear just the barest hint of something that time? He looked at Ellie. "Was that an echo? Did you hear anything?"

She shook her head.

Liam remembered a question he had intended to ask her. "You said something to me ages ago. A name, I think. Leggie-something? Letchi?"

"Lechuguilla," she said. "It's a massive cave somewhere sort of near here. Dad was going to take us one day. When we first found the hole I thought maybe it was the entrance to another cave like that one."

"Well," Liam said, "we know it's deep. Maybe it is a cave. And if it's deep they wouldn't want anyone to fall in."

The blackness was like a magnet. Liam found himself staring into it and thrilled with the prospect of uncovering its secrets. They would need ropes and flashlights and a way of sneaking off for a whole day with nobody knowing they were gone ...

It was wishful thinking. There was no way they'd get away with it.

The winter sun, much lower in the sky these days, wasn't quite at its midday point when they started back to the compound.

Liam instructed Sal to keep close.

When the buildings came in sight they became more cautious, shading their eyes as they squinted into the distance, on the lookout for any adults moving about. The camp seemed no more alive than it had that morning. Nothing was ever left outside longer than necessary; no work had been done to freshen the barracks or hangars, broken windows had not been touched. Derelict, forgotten—that was how the adults wanted the place to look and care was taken to ensure that was how it stayed.

Ellie stopped so abruptly Liam walked into her.

"What is it?"

"More strangers."

In the distance, on the same path Liam had followed when he first arrived, a line of people picked their way over the rough ground.

Ellie craned her neck. "Is that Eric in the front? Maybe it's just more refugees."

Newcomers were still arriving at the camp though numbers had dwindled to a trickle these days. If Jeremiah was still sending people their way they weren't mentioning it. Liam wondered if that meant his shapeshifting neighbor was long gone for good. It was annoying to think they'd never know what was so special about the artifact.

They were so close to camp now Liam doubted anyone would suspect he and Ellie had spent the morning out in the desert. They walked faster, not caring who saw them. Not until they turned a corner and nearly ploughed into Gibson and Rudi.

"Watch it!" Gibson barked.

"Sorry," Liam said as he and Ellie stepped around the pair. When they had gone about ten steps, he turned. Gibson was staring at him. _Still_ staring at him. He hadn't moved, his look sharp and suspicious. It wasn't the first time Liam had seen that look. He'd been getting it ever since he and Jeremiah put Doggett back together. Liam knew why. Gibson couldn't read his mind anymore.

Liam told himself to relax. If Gibson had read his mind and knew what they had been up to, he'd be frogmarching them downstairs right now to face the consequences of their crimes.

They had got away with their excursion. And yet Liam felt deflated. Sure, they'd found the hole again, but they were no closer to knowing what was at the bottom of it—and it was no longer their secret anymore.

Liam spent the afternoon with his parents. When his mother asked him how he spent the morning, he said he had been with Ellie—which wasn't a lie. She didn't ask any further and Liam swallowed down some sneaky guilt. It seemed so easy to deceive his parents these days.

Later he met up with Ellie in the hall for what had become their evening ritual since Christmas the week before. They cut all but a couple of lights, throwing the room into a muted golden glow, and Ellie spread a rug on the floor and dropped a couple of pillows. Liam already knew the end of _Ender's Game_ —he finished the book in a day—but he'd had so much fun reading aloud with Ellie on Christmas Day, they decided to make it a nightly event. They had even gathered a dedicated audience—including Mulder and Dr Scully (when she could make it).

Liam and Ellie had started reading by the time Dr Scully slipped in. She hadn't been around the camp that afternoon and Liam wondered if she had spent the whole day—cold as it was—out at Doggett's pit.

Mulder helped her out of a thick jacket and when they sat down, he held her close against him. The low light accentuated dark shadows under the doctor's eyes. A tiny smile on her mouth never dropped, but whenever he stole glances at her, Liam could see her eyes were heavy-lidded.

Her head had fallen onto Mulder's chest when Mr Skinner entered the room and made straight for the couple. Liam took his grimace to be an apology as he crouched down and tapped Mulder's shoulder. Dr Scully, still sleepy, righted herself to listen to Mr Skinner. He had his extra serious face on.

Liam rushed to the end of his paragraph and let Ellie take her turn. Mr Skinner spoke low but with an emphasis which made it easy to catch his words.

"—got to be important. They're asking after some pretty specific files, Mulder. Ones to do with viruses. You took some, didn't you?"

Mulder's eyebrows drew together. "Scully and I managed to get some out before I ... before I left after Democrat Springs—"

A worried expression grew on his face. "We couldn't take everything. What are they asking about?"

"There's a few. One in particular keeps coming up. A virus called Kill Switch?"

Mulder swore.

By the time they reached the end of the chapter, Mulder and Mr Skinner were gone. Dr Scully didn't leave with them; a few quick words and Mulder was up. A squeeze of her hand and she let him go. She stayed, rising only when Liam placed his homemade bookmark between two leaves and closed his book.

She yawned. "Thank you, Liam. Same time tomorrow night?"

She passed Liam's mother on her way out. The two women spoke and then Marie signaled Liam to hurry up for bedtime.

As they headed to the door, his mother touched his arm.

"Dr Scully has been pretty busy lately—she looks like she hasn't slept all week—I hope you don't pester her every night."

He shook his head. "No!"

"I know you wouldn't, honey," she said, smoothing his hair. "I'm sorry I implied it. She's had a hard week with this supersoldier. How they expect her to deal with the supersoldier _and_ lab work I don't know."

Preparing for bed, he thought about the supersoldier lying at the bottom of his pit. It would be cold—not that that would bother him. What would it be like to not feel the weather? Maybe he'd have a better idea if he took his shoes and socks off and ran outside in his pajamas.

"Nah. That's a stupid idea, isn't it?" he said to Jerry the frog.

The frog ignored him. These days Jerry spent his days on the bottom on his tank. Liam supposed he was hibernating.

As he snuggled down to do his own hibernating, Liam was grateful for the warmth of his blankets.

_Sweat dribbles down his temple, a train of tears sears a track over his cheeks. His lungs swell against his chest as he sucks in air heavy with ice._

_He feels none of these things._

_The last thing he seems to remember is lying cozy in a soft bed?_ How on earth is that possible?

_Above him, there's a circle, milky blue in the night light._ _H_ _e sees the walls of his prison funnel all the way up. Like he's at the bottom of a chimney. His eyesight is the best it's ever been. She is so far above him, yet he can make out the sadness and anger etched on her face. He doesn't want her to come closer, doesn't want her to see him. He would give anything not to be here. But at least when he's looking at her face, he's not seeing someone else's._

_He recoils at tell-tale black fingermark stains on a swan-white skin. He fights the vision._

_A weak voice is all he can summon, but he doesn't know he's spoken until he hears himself. "Are you alone?"_

" _Yes."_

_Another long tear breaks free. He'd stop them if he could; he has no right to them. His thoughts are chaos but he knows he holds secrets—if only he knew what they were. It is difficult to know what to hold on to and what to reveal when there's still so much that confuses him._

_But he knows who to give his secrets to—most of them; there is no confusion over that. Just like there's no confusion over the broken body of a twisted woman. He crushed her windpipe. He nearly chokes, feeling his own hands hover about his own neck. Something else. Think of something else._

" _You're not recording this?" He hears the fear in his voice._

" _Only Mulder knows I'm here."_

" _I'm worried," he whispers. Thinks he whispers._

" _I know," she says, words like drops of mercy. He doesn't deserve it._

" _I don't want to be lost again."_

" _You found us once. I won't let you go without a fight."_

_If he felt temperature anymore, he'd feel a cold sweat. "What if I can't keep them out? What if I can't keep_ him _out? God, Dana, what if I have no choice? There's things I remember, things I need to tell you ..."_

_His hearing is so keen he can hear her stiffen, can hear her brace herself. She was friends with the broken woman. How can she stomach talking to him?_

" _We are—I was—waiting. Someone was—is—coming. A leader. Someone powerful. Someone to guide and marshal our thoughts."_

" _A commander." She doesn't sound surprised, just wary. Prickly. He doesn't blame her._

" _You know who."_

" _No," she lies._

" _You know the day."_

" _No." But there is no resistance in her voice. He wishes he could reach his hand—his old hand—out to her. Wishful thinking. She has always been untouchable and he is not who—what—he was._

" _It doesn't have to be him." Now_ she _is begging, small. "Dear God, if these people knew. They're desperate enough to do anything ..."_

_He can't see her face now; she's looking over her shoulder. Truth always comes with a price._

" _The Sly Ones say there is one and only one. And one day he will arise and know himself." He curses, desperate. "I'm sorry. They've—I've been so used to them in my head—I have to get used to it being_ my _head again. I don't want to sound like them."_

" _You sound more like yourself every day."_

_She offers more hope than he deserves. She offers the impossible. He'll never be who he was. Because a good woman is dead, a good man is dead. He_ was _a good man, tried to be. And then there are the other things he's been seeing. Walking round in another head. Can't tell her that._

" _The shape-changing ones—they're mystics. Prophecy mumbo jumbo—they like prophecy. They have one; they won't tell though. Not all of it. The other ones—sheeze, Scully they're cold; you don't see them but you know they're there, just behind the walls—it's not prophecy for them. It just is. They just believe. One-plus-one-equals-two, sun-will-rise-in-the-morning-night-follows-day belief. They touch your mind and you get a glimpse into theirs. They believe the commander will find them, that he will seek them out."_

" _So that's it? There's nothing we can do? They flick a switch and he's one of them? I refuse to believe that!"_

_He wishes he could tell her more but he just doesn't know. "I don't know what is supposed to happen when he finds them. I don't know what they have planned for him. Their science doesn't seem to be perfect. They still do experiments—"_

_He fears he has made her mad. And if she isn't mad now, one day she will be. He marvels that it never happened sooner. She is not looking down on him, she is not speaking. He doesn't like doing it, but she has to know. "They think they can offer him something he needs. Something he won't be able to resist. Something only they can give him. They won't have to do anything. He'll seek them out."_

_She unfreezes, all business and braced for battle. "We'll just have to make sure he doesn't get the chance, then. They will_ not _get their hands on him."_

" _That day, Scully. It won't just be William."_

_He shivers._

" _You're talking about invasion, colonization?" Items on a shopping list: she doesn't bat an eyelid._

" _It's the day colonization_ ends _, Scully. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers all over the world switched overnight, waking up in chains. Some'll be soldiers, some administrators, most will be_ —" _H_ _e chokes on his disgust before he rallies. "They use human bodies infected with the virus to incubate their young. Most of them will be—"_

_She knows exactly what he's talking about. He remembers she's seen it before. A long time ago on a frozen continent at the bottom of the world._

" _Hosts," she says. She has never let panic rule her; she has never let words threaten her. "Most of us will become hosts. They're looking to grow their army—that's why they need us ... but we can stop that happening, John."_

" _I'm not John Doggett anymore, Scully."_

" _Yes," she says, "you are."_


	23. Chapter 23

January 2, 2012  
New Mexico

She knew. Dr Scully knew who the commander was. She had to.

Liam was jolted out of his dream. Thoughts swirled in his head and his skin stung like a plunge in ice water. Why would Dr Scully keep such a huge secret?

_How_ could she?

Major Drummond believed the commander was the key to beating the aliens. That if they knew who the commander was they could stop him taking control of the supersoldiers.

Liam gripped his blankets, staring up into the darkness, long after he heard the familiar morning sounds of his parents moving about. His thoughts flew down endless corridors, searching behind doors and under chairs and in darkened corners for an answer as elusive as the end of _pi_.

The door squealed on its rollers and his mother appeared.

"Are you getting out of bed today, sleepyhead?"

What should he do? Act normal and pretend nothing was wrong, or reveal everything to his parents? No time to think it through.

He put on his sickliest smile. "Are you gonna make me?"

His mother grinned. "Is that a challenge? You're not too old to be tickled, Liam van de Kamp!"

She advanced on his bed, arms up Halloween mummy-like, wiggling her fingers.

A genuine smile—one that made it all the way to his eyes—broke out for a second. "No," he cried, even as he felt the laughter bubble in his chest.

He was able to keep up the jokes all morning. Telling his parents about the dream would raise more questions than he wanted to answer; it was Dr Scully he really needed to talk to. This dream was unlike any other he had ever had. Not even the nightmares where he found himself turning into a monster. If this dream was real— _if—_ —then he already was a monster. He was the supersoldier at the bottom of the pit; he was Dr Scully's old friend, Doggett. The dream didn't scare him—not the way the other monster dreams did—because in it he wasn't Liam at all. And Doggett wasn't scared—or scary; he was just upset.

Liam didn't expect to see the doctor until that evening. Her appearance in the mess hall at lunch time was a surprise—one Liam was determined not to pass up. She chose a quiet corner in the room, keeping herself separate from the few round her. She didn't eat very much; Liam ate three sandwiches for her one. When she pushed her plate away, Liam was vexed. There were still too many people in the room to risk a private conversation. He decided to follow her, keeping his distance until he was sure they were alone.

She didn't go downstairs so she wasn't going to her laboratory. Eventually she turned down an unfamiliar passage. Liam was curious; he had thought this area of the compound was unoccupied. There were no quarters down here. Offices, perhaps? Reaching the corner, Liam made his second snap decision of the day. The doctor was nearly at the far end of the empty corridor.

"Dr Scully?"

She didn't stop; her steps didn't even falter. She was ignoring him. He tried again, calling louder.

His hail brought another person to a door just beyond the doctor.

She stopped when Mulder put a hand on her arm. Liam was too far away to hear what he said. Dr Scully turned, chagrin on her face. The warmth, though, in her greeting was unmistakable.

"Liam? Did you want something?" She smiled and her eyes tightened the way his mother's did when she had a headache.

She was so busy these days—she looked so tired—and she seemed surprised to see him—so she can't have been ignoring him. His resolve nearly evaporated.

He took a deep breath and told himself to toughen up. He _had_ to do this, and he had to be looking her in the eye as he did.

"You know who the commander is."

She stiffened; her face went flat, indecipherable.

"Excuse me?"

"The commander. You know who he is. He's here at camp and you know who he is!"

An echo turned his words a hissing accusation.

Mulder gave him a rare sharp look and put an arm around Dr Scully's shoulder. "Keep your voice down."

The door behind Mulder was open but he and Dr Scully blocked Liam's view. Even so, Liam got the sense nobody else was in there. Mulder and Dr Scully were staring at him. Waiting.

"Dr Scully has been sneaking out to talk to the soldier," Liam said. "He told her that he knows she knows."

"And _you_ know this how?" The warmth in her voice was gone, replaced with crystal chill.

This was the sticking point. He thought about lying and saying he had snuck out, but he knew that explanation wouldn't work. Not this time.

"I just do."

Dr Scully's lips pressed into a thin line. Any willpower he had left to stand up to her vanished and the truth tumbled out his mouth.

"I dreamed it—I had a dream."

The silence was painful. They left him hanging. He was stuck, frozen up to his hips. He battled on, looking for any kind of sign from them. "It's true, isn't it?"

When Mulder did reply, Liam heard more interest than concern in his voice. If Mulder was worried about their secret getting out, he didn't let any of it show. "What sort of dreams have you been having?"

"I—You're changing the subject!"

Mulder shrugged. "You're the one who said you had a dream."

"But—"

"Liam, there's a lot we don't understand about supersoldiers—how they think, how they communicate, the true extent of their abilities. If you had a dream with one in it—especially one you've had contact with—we need to know. It could mean something."

The foundation of his resolve crumbled like a sandcastle at high tide.

"Do you think the supersoldier is doing something to me? He put the dream in my head?" Was it possible? Had he jumped to the wrong conclusion? All things being equal ...

Looking at it a different way, it was kind of made sense; Liam was a normal human ten-year-old—it was far more likely if anything supernatural was happening it was because of the supersoldier. He suddenly felt very, very silly.

Mulder was sympathetic. "It's worth considering. He caught you, didn't he, when you fell down the pit? Maybe he was able to form some sort of psychic connection—"

"Mulder—" Dr Scully looked annoyed.

Mulder grinned. "I'm sure I won this round a decade ago, Scully? Can you tell us about your dream, Liam?"

Liam found himself outlining what he had seen and heard while the couple listened.

"And that was it?" Dr Scully said when he reached the end. "He didn't say who the commander was?"

"No. Maybe—" He made a face. "I woke up."

Dr Scully glanced at Mulder.

"Thank you for telling us, Liam. It's certainly a vivid account, but perhaps that's all it is—"

"You think?" Mulder asked, amusement making his voice light. "After everything you've seen, Scully? Everything you've come to accept as truth?"

Liam caught her rolling her eyes.

"I never gave up on a standard of proof, Mulder—and I don't want Liam worrying about something unsubstantiated—especially when the obvious answer is something far more mundane. You understand me, don't you, Liam?"

He nodded.

Dr Scully checked her watch. "You'd better be heading back to the main hall. This area isn't exactly off-limits but now's not the time to be exploring."

Standing on the balls of his feet Liam could peer right over her shoulder now. "What's down here? More labs?" The rectangle of room he could see was unremarkable.

"Supplies mainly," Dr Scully said. "Dry goods, canned goods, linen, oil, tools—odds and ends I'm sure you'd have a great time exploring … which I know you won't. Right? Good. Well, we'll see you at dinner later."

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He was halfway down the corridor—when he realized he'd been played. Too late. Mulder and Scully had already disappeared and the corridor was filling with the heavy sound of shoes echoing on lino. Liam ducked down a passage he guessed would take him back to the main part of the building.

o0o

"What should I do, Sal?"

The dog stuck her tongue out and panted.

Liam glared at her. "It's all very well for you. It's not like you'd ever have to deal with this situation. Besides, you _do_ know what's going on—don't pretend you don't—it'd be nice if you could tell me what to do for once."

They were pacing in one of the hangars. Liam hadn't felt like company after talking to Mulder and Dr Scully. Their explanation—that the supersoldier was responsible for the dream—was plausible but they also hadn't denied his accusation.

Which meant it too could still be true. (Which also meant Dr Scully was lying.)

Which meant they knew who this mysterious "commander" person was.

Which meant they were protecting him. Or her.

It didn't make sense.

Just what were they so scared of? He could understand why Mulder had kept his ability to see dead people secret, and if Mulder and Dr Scully had been honest when they'd arrived on the van de Kamp doorstep half a year ago Liam and his parents would probably have laughed them off the farm and be dead or worse now.

A chill went down his spine.

But some secrets just were not right … and neither had given him a good enough reason to keep their secret.

Sorting his feelings and thoughts was impossible. It was like he had woken up in a dark, endless maze.

No matter which way he hunted, Liam couldn't find an exit. Every twisted turn he took wound up in a dead end. If he went back and threatened them, demanded they tell him why, would they?

He answered his own question with a snort. No, they wouldn't. He was just a kid. Wall.

Who _would_ be able to get the answer out of them? He raced through his options, rejecting his parents immediately—because he didn't want them to worry about him, he told himself; the scientists seemed like a possibility until he remembered the way they respected—no, revered—Dr Scully and Mulder; Mr Skinner, Eric, Gibson, Mrs Scully—they were all too close. Wall, wall, wall. It was enough to make him scream. He was running out of options; it couldn't be just anyone. There had to be someone he knew; someone he could trust. Someone who would be able to talk to Major Drumm—

Major Drummond.

Hadn't he been most interested in this commander person right from the start?

Liam considered the old man who somehow seemed to be a leader in the camp. He looked jolly, but he didn't really sound it. Major Drummond was really a reverend—not a soldier at all; he had worked all over the country for the Salvation Army. Liam didn't know exact details; the story going around was that the Major's interest in abductions and aliens started years before because someone in his family had been an abductee.

It was a familiar story.

The Major was convinced finding the commander would help them. That if they killed the commander, he couldn't be replaced.

Although he didn't understand the Major's particular interest in the commander, if Liam spoke to him privately maybe they could both confront Mulder and Dr Scully.

They could do it without telling anyone else. Maybe Mulder and Dr Scully could tell the Major why they didn't want anyone to know. If they had a good reason, at least someone else important in the camp would know. If anyone should know, surely it was the Major?

"That's what I'll do," Liam said, jumping to his feet. "I'll tell Major Drummond."

Instead of grinning and wagging her tail, Sal went very still. Liam frowned.

"That's the best thing to do, isn't it? Isn't it? If someone has to know it might as well be him."

She never took her gaze off him but she didn't move, even when he went to the hangar door. He called twice before she walked over to him, her steps reluctant.

"That's not good enough, Sal," Liam said, scratching at her ear. "Sometimes to be a good friend you have to stand up to your friends—I read that in a book once."

He could almost hear Sal's soft snicker in his ears.

o0o

He didn't count on his next obstacle.

"And you're going _where_ exactly?"

Gibson lounged against the door frame. His lips pulled back in a fixed sneer.

Instinct had told Liam to go back to the mysterious new corridor. Mulder and Dr Scully had been preparing for a meeting—he was sure of it—and, best guess, that most likely included Major Drummond. There was a core group of people who always seemed to be at the center of every important decision made in the camp.

It had been a simple matter of hiding in a narrow corridor off the main one, and waiting and watching for everyone to leave.

Luck had been on his side; Mulder and Dr Scully had been among the first to hurry by. Liam watched them pass with a pang. But no. He gritted his teeth. They'd had their chance. They made him angry just thinking about it.

A large group—Liam recognized some of the scientists' voices—departed together, followed by silence. Either Major Drummond was still down there or he had never been at the meeting.

There was no one left in the corridor so Liam leaped out of his skin when he nearly walked into Gibson.

They were at the door where he'd confronted Mulder and Dr Scully.

"I said"—the corner of Gibson's mouth curled—"what do you think you are doing here?"

The ugly jeer ignited the simmering anger in Liam's heart.

"That's none of _your_ business. Anyway, can't you read my mind?" Satisfaction blazed. "Oh, that's right. You can't."

Gibson's cheek muscles roiled and purpled. His nostrils flared. Liam couldn't resist another dig.

"I have to speak to Major Drummond. About nothing that concerns _you_."

The airy condescension failed to set off Gibson's temper. Instead the man straightened and lost some of his belligerence.

"The Major's a busy man. If you give me a message I can get it to him and see if he has time to see you."

Liam waited for the inevitable sarcasm Gibson liked to dish out. It never came—and he was wordless for a second as he tried to figure out if Gibson's offer was genuine. He had no way of knowing.

"Thanks, but I'd prefer to talk to Major Drummond alone." Liam raised his chin and stared down his nose. He drew himself up to appear more confident.

Gibson laughed, his eyes glittering. "As I said, the Major's a busy man. Maybe if I can give him some idea of what you want to talk about ...?"

Was Liam going to stand there, stamp his foot and argue? With Gibson standing guard, there was no way he was going to see Major Drummond. Assuming, of course, the Major was down here. Maybe that was why Gibson was being less aggravating than usual. Maybe he was having a laugh at Liam.

He started to turn until a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"The Major's made no secret of his interest in this so-called commander."

Liam shuddered. He was _certain_ Gibson couldn't read his mind. Not anymore.

Fingers dug into Liam's shoulder blades. "The Major's a gambling man—did you know that? Never could resist a chance to try his luck, if you catch my meaning. No? Too young perhaps?"

Gibson's talent for sly insinuation reasserted itself. "What do you think he'd do if he knew who the commander was?"

Liam opened his mouth but Gibson went on before he could speak.

"Throw a party? Lay out the welcome mat and kill the fatted calf—you're a good little Christian kid, you know what that means, don't you?"

Gibson fished something out of a pocket and started rolling it in his hand: a small pocket knife? The blade wasn't extended.

"You're weird." Liam immediately regretted the insult, and not just because it was a feeble comeback.

Gibson's brow shot up. "Getting personal, are we? How do you even know this story about a commander is real? Maybe they want us to think it's real. Maybe it's a way to get us to turn on one another. What if we make a mistake—blame the wrong person. You wanna be responsible for swinging that ax—"

Bloodied limbs and gore went flying through Liam's mind and he flinched. _Dad_. Gibson slashed at the air in front of him with the knife which hissed when a long slender blade popped out.

"You want that head to roll ..."

Even as Gibson spoke, the words died in his mouth and he frowned. "Sheesh, kid. It's just a metaphor."

Liam flinched again when a thick hand patted him gingerly on his back. Gibson gave what could have been a sigh and stepped back from the doorway, ushering Liam in with a halfhearted flourish. "Make yourself at home."

The movement was so unexpected Liam had already stepped to the threshold before he halted with a sense of caution. The strange knife had gone back into Gibson's pocket. He stood aside.

"See. I really do know what you're thinking," he said. It was impossible to tell if Gibson was more amused or resigned. "You're wondering why I'm letting you see this."

Liam saw empty chairs set up at wooden trestle tables arranged in a U and the maps papering gray cinder blocks. He made a face. "Is the Major here?"

"Not at the moment. He'll be back in about ten minutes probably."

"Why—"

"Maybe—just maybe"—Gibson gave him a warning glance—"I think you have a right to know more about this place. I can't stop you talking to Drummond. You have a right to talk to him. Doesn't mean you should—but you _do_ have a right. There's a lot you have the right to know. Maybe if you knew that stuff, you wouldn't be so keen to talk to the Major. Or anyone else for that matter."

"How did you know—"

"About your little discovery? I can't read your mind but Mulder's is an open book to me. He's worried you'll do something foolish. Personally I think he's right to be worried. I also think he's making a mistake not telling you stuff."

Liam spun about. "If you think I should know, why don't you tell me? Is it something about my dreams? About the supersoldier? Dad?" He watched for some sign he was getting close. "My birth mother?"

Gibson twitched; his face contracted into a mean squint and when he spoke it was with his old barb. "I'm not telling you anything."

Gibson's return to form was reassuring and Liam shrugged in disdain. "Never thought you would." He gave the room another once over. "Is this like your command center?"

"Pretty much. It's fairly recent." Gibson did his own shrug. "They started coming here when they worked out little ears could talk."

Nothing in the compound was new but this room was especially old-looking. The floor was streaky gray and rough with long cracks and chipped edges. The walls were just painted blocks; most were covered with maps. At the head of the room was a blackboard. There were writings and symbols all over it.

Liam was drawn to a map off the side of the blackboard. Gibson didn't stop him venturing further into the room.

"What's that one for?"

Liam stood on tip toes to study it, feeling sure Dr Scully hadn't put this one up. The lines were rough and not to scale but he could make out the shapes and state lines of Arizona, New Mexico and Texas.

He looked at Gibson, dabbing a finger. "We're about here, aren't we?"

Gibson's face was unreadable. "Give or take a mile or two."

"What are these?" Pink Xs dotted all three states. They were most concentrated in a clump along on the Mexico border. Liam counted five sizable areas where there were no pink marks. Their camp was in the center of one of the empty areas.

"They represent all our confirmed sightings of supersoldiers since July last year."

Liam stared at the board. The Xs were all around the empty circles. "So many?"

"Each mark doesn't represent a separate soldier. This map is showing us where the supersoldiers have been and the places they keep visiting. It's telling us for some reason the supersoldiers are spending a lot of time in these particular areas." Gibson pointed out the three areas that had the most Xs.

"What does that mean?"

Gibson hesitated. "Best guess? They're looking for something."

"Or someone?"

"Or someone."

There was no need to say it: the commander. That's what they were both thinking.

"And the empty areas? Are they areas where there's lots of magnetite? That's why they're empty; they can't go there."

"Exactly."

Liam's gaze drifted over some of the things written on the blackboard. There was no order to any of it. 'Vaccine distribution' was underlined in a heavy hand, but next to it 'speed/rate of infection' appeared unimportant in tiny, thin letters. A bold question mark in a large circle stood out, as did the words in the circle: INSIDE JOB? COMMANDER? WEAPONS? Just outside the circle another hand had drawn a smiley face and 'global warming solved! The aliens did it!' above 'climate change = incubation ideal!'

"The Major's due back in about ten minutes. You can stay if you want. I'm not."

Liam turned in surprise. He didn't know what to make of Gibson, one minute strange and mean, the next almost sympathetic.

"I'm not going to stop you doing what you think you have to do—I think you're old enough to accept the consequences of your actions—but even if you haven't worked everything out yet you should know the golden rule by now, especially after Jeremiah Smith."

Liam shook his head all the while knowing where this was going.

"Trust nobody."

Gibson was good to his word, heading to the door to leave Liam gaping after him. Gibson turned in the doorway.

"Maybe we all want the same thing, Liam, but we don't all agree on how to get it—and sometimes that means your friends are more dangerous than your enemies."


	24. Chapter 24

Late January, 2012  
New Mexico

Days turned over, weeks raced by, and before anyone noticed, January disappeared. As he marked another day off his homemade calendar, Liam marveled that so much time had passed without anything happening.

After a short break for Christmas and New Year's, it was back to school.

The novelty of the first heavy snowfall for the season lasted only as long as its whiteness. The snow made the grownups grouchy because everything took twice as long to do. Anyone moving topside had to take a shovel to cover their tracks, which turned simple tasks into laborious ones. The snow ruled out field games like football and soccer. Cooped up and restless, Liam and his friends rumbled around underground, layered in sweaters and socks, like woolen thunderballs, until even their energy for grumbling ran out, leaving nothing more than dull resentment.

The snow sapped the last glow of festive spirit in the camp. Dr Scully avoided the mess hall, eating in her office or quarters. The rest of her time was spent in the laboratory, where work on a vaccine was carried out around the clock. Liam wondered if she was staying away so she wouldn't have to disappoint them. Even when his back was turned he could tell when she had entered a room because everything stopped. It was like everyone paused mid-breath. Dr Scully wasn't the only scientist working in the camp, but she was the one they all trusted: the one they all expected to hear the news from.

Early in January—the day after Liam's confrontation with Mulder and Dr Scully in the corridor—Mulder left camp for a week. When Liam asked about it, Dr Scully brushed him off. "He's had to go help a friend."

Liam had two more dreams where he was the supersoldier, but Dr Scully never reappeared in them and then the dreams stopped. When he started to bring up the subject, he would look at the shadows on Dr Scully's face and shut up.

He agonized over his decision not to talk to Major Drummond. Gibson had planted doubts in his head and he had had no idea if that was a good or bad thing. He was uncertain he'd made the right choice until he overheard his parents one night. They had been discussing small matters—routine events of the day, small stories and jokes—when Mrs van de Kamp had mentioned Major Drummond and Doggett.

"He's like a dog with a bone," she had said. "I'm not sure how Dana puts up with it—every day he wants to know every little detail about Doggett and his memories. I'm sure we'd all rest easier knowing who this supposed "commander" person is, but if Doggett doesn't know, he doesn't know. Badgering Dana isn't going to change that."

Liam heard the click of a cupboard opening. Probably his father putting his boots away. It was his nightly habit to polish and shine his shoes in preparation for the following day.

Marie continued. "His interest is bordering on obsession—I'd almost question how healthy it is."

"He's not hurting anyone by it. Better he fixates on the commander than the supposed traitor in our ranks," Harry said.

"That's something to be thankful for, I suppose," Liam's mother replied. "You might not remember it, Harry, but when we first got here, he was so paranoid I thought he was going to demand we even install cameras and listening devices in the family washrooms."

Liam straightened. He'd never heard _that_ before. There was a squeak as the cupboard door closed. Liam heard his dad move back to his chair. "We never caught anyone."

"If there was a leak, it didn't give away the location of the camp or anything about Mulder and Scully. And the identity of Mulder's source is still safe. That was Drummond's biggest concern."

Harry let out a loud and ponderous 'hmm'.

"What is it?" Marie said.

"Mulder and Skinner at New Year's. Skinner got news about something then Mulder took off. I wonder if there is something in this traitor business after all."

"Something to do with Mulder's informant?"

"That's the fear."

Liam lost track of the rest of the conversation as it drifted back to mundane matters. His mother was concerned by Major Drummond. And if _she_ was worried, Gibson might have had a point about the Major.

Gibson: there was another irritation—despite a sort of thawing in their relationship.

_Most_ of the time now Gibson was okay to have around. But his behavior was still erratic and Liam found himself wishing they could go back to just hating each other all the time. On bad days Gibson's mood swings went from calm—almost helpful—to unpleasant and venomous in the shift of seconds. And, with no obvious trigger, they were impossible to predict.

Still, it was impossible not to ignore the change in the guy's attitude. When they first arrived, Gibson had been a recluse, shunning company and brooding in his solitary hut.

Ever since the arrival of Jeremiah Smith, Gibson had started doing more with the other grownups. He had called for action and people listened. His chess lessons with Eric had moved into the mess hall and attracted an audience these days.

But his tempers were hard to take. Too many times Liam would find himself just about liking Gibson Praise—only for one of Gibson's bizarre fits of anger to flare up and drive him away.

It was frustrating. Gibson knew things about Liam—things Liam desperately wanted to know. Several times—on Gibson's good days—Liam had been close to asking questions, but his nerves would get the better of him.

Equally frustrating was Liam's desire to know _what_ those secrets were. What could Gibson know about him that was worth such a big production?

Try as he might, he couldn't banish the question from his head. Not knowing the answer was unsettling, but he was smart enough to know it might be one he didn't like—and that was just as unsettling.

In their free time Liam and Ellie scoured the camp for lengths of rope. The hole was out-of-bounds as long as there was snow on the ground, but they could still plan.

At the rate this year was going, the snow would clear soon enough and they would find a way to sneak off without alerting anyone—friend or enemy. Drones and satellites were one thing—but leaving a trail for their parents to find them seemed unnecessarily foolish.

February rolled in without any ceremony. If Doggett knew who the mysterious commander was, he did a good job pretending not to. His recovery was slow but definite and although they weren't told officially, it was no secret in the camp that the second supersoldier was about to be released.

The scientists were confident the virus which had affected Doggett would affect the second soldier. They were less sure if the virus would spread easily to other supersoldiers. They would be taking a risk releasing her.

Liam kept a hawkish watch on his father. Outwardly he laughed and acted normal, but Liam and his mother noticed changes—a sombreness they weren't used to. He had picked up when Doggett started to recover. These days he was back to his sturdy, sensible self, and he was an intrinsic part of the camp's security team. Any plan involving supersoldiers would involve him. If the plan to release the second supersoldier backfired and they had to re-captured her, they would have to chop her up again.

Tension ruled life in the camp. It came from waiting; waiting for the vaccine, waiting for the experiment with the supersoldier, waiting for the end of the year ...

December 22 was the only definite date they had. To Liam it still seemed far enough away. Between then and now there were so many things that had to happen and no way of knowing _when_ they would.

Few people seemed to notice Mulder's _second_ absence, or be surprised at his reappearance days later. Liam was collecting his tray of dinner—mashed potato (from a packet), vegetables and a slice of cheese—when Mulder slipped into the mess hall and approached Mr Skinner.

Initially Mr Skinner seemed glad to see Mulder but then his look became thoughtful. Mulder's didn't change: there was a grim set to his face. Later Liam asked Mulder where he had gone; his reply was brief and no more informative than Dr Scully's had been the first time he went away: "To help a friend, Liam."

Feeling daring Liam pushed for more. "Your friend called Esther?"

Mulder stared at him and Liam knew he had crossed a line.

Ellie had lost interest in discussing Esther, but she had put a thought in his head which refused to budge. He couldn't bring himself to ask Mulder if this mysterious woman had some special reason to be interested in him. But just bringing up her name was a step towards answers.

"Be very careful who you use that name around, Liam," Mulder said. "The wrong thing said at the wrong time can be catastrophic."

Liam had backed off but his desire to know more was rekindled.

Opportunity came sooner than expected when Mulder tapped him on the shoulder two weeks later.

"Got a moment, Liam?"

Liam's heart swelled with excitement. He loved his conversations with Mulder and Dr Scully, and when they sought him out it made him feel extra-special. He sized his friend up: hands plunged in pockets, outside coat on, a sober air about him. The atmosphere around the camp had perked up as the snow melted and all the rumors circulating about the vaccine were positive. Mulder's dark mood had to be the result of something else.

"Liam, I have to take another trip—and I could be away for longer this time—"

"Where are you—"

Mulder put a hand up. "I need to help a friend move—that's all you need to know."

How much help did this friend need to move? Move where? Couldn't they find someone else to help?

Mulder rubbed his face as though he had a headache. "I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What?" Liam asked less graciously than his mother would have liked.

Mulder ignored his bluntness.

"Scully's been working non-stop. I was hoping you would keep an eye on her while I'm gone. Visit her, have dinner with her—make sure she _has_ dinner. It's her birthday in a week. Think you could help her celebrate it?"

"Sure." Liam would have done it anyway. "Is she okay?"

Mulder looked away before turning back with a forced grin.

"They're very close to testing the vaccine, Liam. She's been stressed. Actually, there's another person you could keep an eye on."

"Who?"

"Scully's mom has offered to be the first person to test the vaccine."

Liam's jaw dropped. "But that could be—"

"Dangerous?"

"But why would she? That's not fair ..."

None of the grownups were unkind, yet none went out of their way to have much to do with him. Mrs Scully was different. Maybe because she was Dr Scully's mother: part of a packaged deal; get one, get the other.

When he and his parents had arrived, they were the outsiders. This was not their world. Like Alice, they had fallen down the rabbit hole. But unlikely as it seemed, his parents—solid, rural farming folk—had carved a place for themselves in this wonderland; his mom ran the school and his dad had an important part to play in the security of the camp. But Mulder and Dr Scully? They were respected—that was undeniable—but they also held back a lot. While they were friendly, they were also reserved.

But they had let the van de Kamps in. _Looking out for us, I s'pose._

And somewhere along the way the world had gone topsy-turvy and the van de Kamps had taken over the role of looking out for the couple. And, by extension, Mrs Scully. _It's like we've adopted them._

"Wouldn't it be better to test it on ..."

One-by-one he knocked down the names his mind put forward; he knew the answer to his own question.

Mulder was shaking his head. "She _offered_ , Liam."

"Why didn't Dr Scully stop her?"

Mulder's smile was real and sad all at once. "Perk of being old enough to vote, Liam."

* * *

Liam took his commitment to Dr Scully and Mrs Scully seriously. Mrs Scully seemed delighted with the extra attention until she discovered Liam knew about the vaccine trial. Then she no longer found his constant hovering around her at meal time adorable.

Finally, one day, she threw down her napkin and said snapped. "He never should have told you!"

"He just cares about you." Liam said. "I do too."

"Yes, well, maybe you can do your caring at fifty paces while I'm having my dinner!"

Liam was fairly certain she wasn't angry but he knew it was no joking matter. In a smaller voice, all his bluster gone, he asked, "Have they given it to you yet?"

Her gaze softened. "Not yet, honey."

"Will you tell me when they do?"

Mrs Scully set her knife and fork in the precise center of her plate. She picked up her crumpled napkin, flattened it, and folded it under the cutlery. "If I promise to tell you, will you let me eat my vegetables in peace from now on?"

"Deal. But you have to give me fair warning—not on the day!"

Agreement reached, Mrs Scully picked up her fork again. Liam watched her hand tremble; it took all his self-control to stay silent.

The first evening Mulder was away Liam had to work hard to entice Dr Scully out of her office. But he found an ally in Mrs Scully and it wasn't long before his mother was also in on the act. The three of them soon cajoled Dr Scully into the habit of taking a coffee break every afternoon once classes were over.

Liam acted as messenger, zipping down to her office or laboratory to tell her when drinks were ready.

Sensitive to Dr Scully's feelings, Liam's mother would invite her and Mrs Scully back to the van de Kamps' quarters. The room almost wasn't really big enough but the Scullys didn't seem to mind. The three women would sit around the table and talk (as far as Liam could tell) about nothing consequential. Liam stuck around long enough one day to present Dr Scully a small quartz rock necklace for her birthday. He had found the rock the first time they'd been allowed to play outside after the last snowfall. Eric had found a long piece of leather and shown him how to secure the rock in it to make the necklace. Dr Scully had been delighted and put the necklace on at once.

It took Liam a week to realize their afternoon breaks were getting longer. He worked it out after an unpleasant day in which Major Drummond had sprung an after-school surprise on them.

Papers in hand, Liam was fuming when he reached the door of their quarters.

He slammed the door behind him, earning himself a stare from his mother. He had interrupted her in the middle of a sip. The cup was poised at her mouth. Mrs Scully and Dr Scully sat in the other seats at the table, small smiles on their faces.

"Was that necessary?" Marie said.

He grumbled an apology.

"Are you going to tell us what's wrong?"

"We're doing a play for Easter," he said as if that should be enough to explain his temper.

"That sounds fun—you like plays, don't you?"

His reply was sullen. "I don't want to sing in front of everyone."

"Oh?"

"I have to sing in Major Drummond's play. We all do—everyone who has a speaking part. I told him I can't sing but he wouldn't listen." He could hear his own outrage—how silly it was, but it felt good to let his frustration out.

Dr Scully was no good at holding back her laughter. "What part are you playing, sweetie?"

Liam scowled and rechecked his script. "Some guy called Simon of Cyrene."

"I'm sure you'll be lovely, dear," Mrs Scully said in that infuriating manner old people had.

Looking for sympathy and not finding it, Liam huffed, stamped all four steps to his room, slid open the door, and threw his bag on the floor.

He hadn't properly closed the door before he heard his mother.

"That was a rare display." She sounded embarrassed. The chink of china followed the shuffle of the women getting to their feet. His arrival marked the end of their break. He was churlishly pleased. There was a long sigh and he heard his mother again. "He's usually so even-tempered. They don't stay young forever, do they?"

"No, they don't," Mrs Scully said.

"Yes—but—I had hoped … it's just, nearly eleven seems too young to be worrying about _that_ sort of thing."

"I expect you don't have anything to worry about for a few years, Marie. Both of my boys were nice as pie right up until their fourteenth birthdays. Do you remember, Dana? _Dana_?"

"Oh! Sorry, Mom. Just lost in a thought for a second." Dr Scully didn't elaborate and recovered the thread of conversation. "I never saw much of a change in Bill, but Charlie's punk phase drove Dad wild. I should think Liam has some more growing to do before he's giving you that sort of trouble, Marie."

His mother sighed again. "I hope you're right. I think living here ..."

"I think we forget how hard it is on the kids sometimes," Mrs Scully said.

* * *

That night Liam dreamed he was on stage in front of a swathe of faces and every time he opened his mouth a deep frog's croak bellowed out. The harder he tried to sing, the faster he croaked, and the sound of laughter in the hall was hysterical. Equal parts horror and outrage, he stormed offstage—and he was suddenly face flat in the desert.

He lifted his head and spat out dirt. It was dark. His excellent eyesight took in the stalks of desiccated creosote bush, white skeleton balls in low light. More to the left. More to the right. He was lying on something coarse but yielding. Pushing himself up on the stumps of his wrists, he …

The stumps of his wrists?

Liam screamed.

The coarse thing squirmed under a knee. He was kneeling on a writhing sack. A toe pushed its way forward to the lip of the canvas.

He was the second supersoldier.

He was the second soldier and she was reassembling.

Stunned, Liam didn't have to will himself to be calm. Looking down on the woman's chest, he couldn't even figure out _how_ he was supposed to react. A tingle wound its way up his left leg. _I guess that's my foot_.

He waited, staying as still as he could, until he became aware of a buzzing in his temple and whitenoise in his ears—like hearing the sea in seashells. The longer he listened, the stronger he sensed there was something else. Something alien operating in the static.

_What is this place?_

It wasn't his thought.

Liam clutched at his head, screaming at the invader. _Get out!_

Desperately he sought an escape. _I don't want to be here._ He clenched his (her?) face, straining to make his mind a fortress. Alien thoughts were coming through the static louder now, jumbled and wondering in rapt confusion.

_I_ don't _want to be here_. Unable to say how, Liam jumped out of the supersoldier body and out of the dream. When he opened his eyes he was back in bed.

It would have been easy to get stuck on one thought: "Why me?" But as he lay shivering he reached a realization. Tugging his blankets over him, Liam's face screwed up. More than anything, he was really, really angry.


	25. Chapter 25

February, 2012  
New Mexico

Dreamless sleep did nothing to soothe Liam; he woke angry.

He snapped at his mother as he prepared for school, and was too agitated to want breakfast. No bets where his father was. _Sleeping off last night's adventure._ He had to be. On his way out Liam hesitated, stopping himself from slamming the door. He paused again on the other side.

None of this was his parents' fault and it was wrong to take it out on them. Whatever was going on they had never asked for any of it.

Instead of heading in the direction of the mess hall and classroom, he took the corridor leading to Dr Scully's office.

He didn't worry about interrupting her morning; he knew she'd be alone. He flung her door wide, giving her just enough time to look up from her paperwork.

"You let the second supersoldier go last night."

She sprang up from her chair. As she ushered him in, she looked into the hallway in both directions before rounding on him.

"What do you know?"

He could have laughed. Trust her. No denials this time—and no asking how he knew. There was no point.

"Not much."

"Another dream?"

He nodded, allowing his breathing to calm. Somehow telling her had been like letting gas escape from a bottle of soda.

Dr Scully made her way back to her desk. "Is she—could you tell if she ... is she infected?"

Liam shrugged.

"Maybe. She seemed … confused. Like she was just discovering something for the first time."

The anger bubbled back and he glared at her. "She was in my head, Dr Scully. She was in my head poking around. I was in her body—but she was in my head. I told her to get out, then I forced myself back home. I don't know how I did that. I don't know how I do any of it."

"Any of what?"

"It's probably nothing." He tried to be cool, like he wasn't bothered. He backed away from her, deliberately looking at the walls to avoid eye contact. He was beyond caring how this would sound. He was filled with a need to shock her. Nothing hit harder than a sudden, sharp fist to the gut. Or a terrible truth delivered casually.

"Just"—he searched for the right word—"things. Stuff. Like how I know what Sal and Jerry are thinking—kind of. Like how I see people in my dreams. Like how I know you're really tired all the time and I keep wanting to tell you to get more sleep but there's more to it than you want me to know."

"Liam, I don't—"

"Maybe it's nothing. Probably just my imagination. Most of the time it's just frustrating, like there's something you all expect me to be doing which I'm not."

Once—a very long time ago now—he had knelt over a dead dog, trying to make Sparky live again with the touch of his hands. Stan had been at his side, telling him to let Sparky go.

The memory was unexpected. In shock, Liam remembered exactly when he'd last _really_ thought about the incident—the day Mulder and Dr Scully had turned up at his house. He'd been angry when Sparky died. Just like he was angry today. Angry because, that day, he _knew_ there was something he should have been doing.

Stan had been beside him. Stan healed animals. _Jeremiah Smith_ healed people—an ability bred into him. He was a creation the same way Gibson seemed to think _he_ was someone's creation. A coldness clenched Liam's chest.

"Am I like Gibson? Was I made in a lab somewhere?"

Dr Scully paled.

"You know I'm adopted—I heard you and Mom talk about it once—what if I wasn't a real baby? What if I was some kind of experiment—that's what we used to say about Gibson. Only, it was true. He told me.

"What if I was born in some green, gooey vat somewhere like those clones you and Mulder used to find?"

Tears began to well in her eyes. They began to glimmer like mirage heat. She felt sorry for him. He didn't want her to feel sorry for him.

"Liam, sweetie, Gibson _was_ a real baby—just like you were—"

"How do you know that? You don't know who I am—where I came from."

She looked like she wanted to speak, like she was desperate to say something.

He waited but she had nothing. He didn't really expect anything. She wouldn't lie to him, she wouldn't pander to his age and make up stories to make him feel better. For a fleeting second he wished—just this once—she would. The last of his energy dissipated, leaving him spent and vague.

"Does the vaccine work?" he said dully. " Maybe you should test it on me, Dr Scully. I'll be anything—I just don't want to turn into a supersoldier."

Her silence told him more than words would have. There was no argument, no hasty rush to laugh off his suggestion. No "is that what you think, silly? That you're becoming a supersoldier?"

He felt his knees go rubbery and he put out his hands to the door behind him. Dr Scully misinterpreted his move.

"Wait—Liam! Don't go." She put an arm out, stopping short of touching him. She seemed surprised by her movement. "Would the vaccine help— _really_ help?"

He nodded. As fantastic as they were, Liam knew his fears were not simple paranoia. Other than Mulder there was no one else in the camp who would listen to him. Watching the struggle on Dr Scully's face, he felt hope rise in his heart.

"We don't even know the vaccine works—or how safe it is." There was a catch in her voice but it didn't seem like worry. She was regarding him curiously.

He was adamant. "I don't want to be a supersoldier."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"It's better than nothing—and it will work. I know it will. Mom says knowing the medicine is going to work is half the job done."

"So you're a pop-psychologist psychic now?" Her mouth curled in a half-smile.

"No—but you're making it, so I know it will work."

It was funny how saying something aloud made it concrete truth. He had been dreading the day Mrs Scully would tell him she was about to test the vaccine. For her sake he'd be worried, nervous, tense—the unknown was scary. But against that was Liam's unshakeable belief in Dr Scully—her dedication and thoroughness, the way she did her best to protect people. The vaccine would work because she wouldn't let it fail.

She couldn't read his mind and she was no longer smiling. "Your parents would never approve."

"We wouldn't have to tell them. Besides—won't Dad have to take the vaccine too? And Mom, too, eventually, I guess. Everyone will. What does it matter if I get it early?"

Dr Scully stared the ceiling. "If the vaccine isn't harmful, those who _need_ it will automatically receive it. It would only be a matter of months. Weeks even before we'll know with any certainty ..."

She looked back at Liam. "You couldn't wait for a few weeks?"

Liam swallowed. "What if that's too late? What if the dreams are a sign?"

Her hands, at her sides, twisted in the folds of her skirt, crushing the fabric.

"You parents, Liam … it wouldn't be right."

"If I tell them, I'll have to explain why. I don't want them to worry." Anguish filled him. "It's okay to keep some things secret, isn't it? If it's to protect someone?"

The room was silent. All he had to do was hold out. Dr Scully would never have mentioned the vaccine if she hadn't been prepared to consider it. Even so, he could see she was warring with herself.

Dr Scully broke the spell of silence, her voice barely raised above a whisper. "That doesn't make you feel any better, though, does it?"

"I promise I'll tell them one day, Dr Scully, when we win against the supersoldiers, and Mom and Dad and I go home. I won't tell them who gave it to me."

"Your parents aren't foolish, Liam. I think they'll be able to guess." She screwed her face up and pinched the bridge of her nose. Reaching down to her desk, she opened a drawer and pulled out a checkered handkerchief. She held it to her nose. Then she studied the handkerchief with a perplexed frown before flicking a glance at Liam, who had been studying her movements surreptitiously. He wasn't sure which of them was more embarrassed.

"Green boogers are the best," he said, straight-faced.

"Feel free to keep _some_ things secret," she said. "Sometimes I get bleeds—maybe the elevation ..."

"Is that normal? Are you okay?"

She waved off his concern.

"I'm fine, Liam. If you really mean it about the vaccine—if you still want to go through with it—come see me in four days."

* * *

Four days. It didn't hit him—what he had asked for—until lunch.

"Knock, knock, Liam. Hellooooooo—anyone in there? You're holding the line up."

Liam looked up from the sandwiches on the plate in front of him. Ellie had poked him in the shoulder. Her finger was pointy and his arm smarted. He was at the canteen servery. A kitchen staff member was waiting for him to move so he could serve the rest of Liam's classmates.

"Sorry." He whisked the plate away as fast as he could.

Ellie set her tray next to his at their table. "Wakey, wakey, Liam."

"Sandwiches," he said with a weak grin. "I'm sick of them."

It wasn't a lie. It was hard to summon any enthusiasm for the squishy slices of bread on his plate. He lifted the corner of one and eyed the filling with suspicion. It was hard to recall the last time lunch had been something different.

"Well, in that case"—Ellie's hand stretched out—"if you don't want yours—"

"Hey, that wasn't an invitation!"

Ellie laughed as she tucked into her own lunch. "Just making sure you're awake. You've looked pretty sleepy all day. Did you stay up late memorizing lines?"

Liam looked up in horror. He'd forgotten about the play.

Ellie bit into her sandwich and carried on, chewing at the same time. "I've just about learned all of mine and Mom's helping me with the songs. I can't wait!"

"Do you reckon there's any way I can get out of—"

"Damn!"

Liam and Ellie twisted in their seats to see where the interruption came from. Toby, alone at a table with books strewn in front of him, was staring hard at a piece of paper in his hand.

"Damn, damn, damn!"

A man Liam didn't know very well—one of the newer refugees, an accountant Liam recalled—approached the student.

Liam heard him say, "It can't be all that bad."

Toby scowled, lines furrowing his forehead. "No. It's worse."

The man shook his head. "What's the prob—"

Toby stood, sweeping up his books and papers. He started to move away, nearly tripping over the bench in his haste. When he straightened, the man hadn't moved and was standing open-mouthed.

"The numbers don't work. We've made a mistake. There's a great f—" He caught Liam's eye and resettled the load in his arms. "There's a problem with one of our calculations."

The door still swinging from Toby's exit, Liam's classmates broke into excited conversation.

"What do you think that was about?" Ellie said.

Liam shrugged, shaking his head. "Dunno. Nothing bad, I hope."

* * *

If Toby's outburst was related to the vaccine, it couldn't have been related to the plan to start vaccine trials. Or it wasn't serious enough to stop them.

They were exactly three days away from the first test. Mrs Scully confirmed it at dinner. True to her word, she was giving him fair warning, choosing a quiet moment to tell him while his parents chatted with other grownups.

"You're not to worry, Liam. Dana has explained the whole thing to me. Everything from how they made it, down to its molecular structure. The worst thing about it will be the needle prick."

Her little joke couldn't disguise her nervousness. Despite Mrs Scully's brave front, he could see tension in her face. He wanted to reach his hand out to her, to tell _her_ not too worry, they'd be going through the experience together and everything was going to be okay.

But he dared not do anything which might jeopardize his access to the vaccine. Dr Scully would be taking a massive risk giving it to him. Even her own mother might be angry if she found out.

Any thoughts Liam had about _not_ taking the vaccine were quashed by his dreams.

No one had mentioned the release of the second supersoldier, and Liam didn't raise it with his parents. Explaining how he knew was too risky. But while nobody was talking about the supersoldier, Liam found himself one step ahead of everyone on that front anyway.

She showed up in two more dreams.

The first time she reappeared, she was lying (still naked), shivering on the cold open ground. Even in the darkness Liam could make out the heap of the canvas bag that had been dumped with her. He guessed she hadn't moved far in twenty-four hours. She seemed to be aware of him. A little tickle stirred in the static of his mind. He had the feeling she still hadn't worked out who or what he was.

She was fascinated by him, but it disturbed Liam and he always tried to get away as soon as he could.

The following night she was walking—well, lurching was probably a better way to describe it. He had a sense of her thoughts—muddled as they were. She was still confused but she was being driven by a deep instinctual need for home. When Liam "appeared," she stumbled.

Somehow he was confusing her sense of home—like maybe if he called she would change direction. Seek him out. The thought was enough to freak him out. He was better at fighting the alien thoughts now, and better at wishing himself out of the dream. He stuck around long enough only to know she was on the move. Even as he willed himself back to his own bed, he was telling her to head to hers. He hoped wherever it was, it was far, far away.

The night before he was to see Dr Scully about the vaccine, he didn't dream. But the damage had already been done. Nothing would stop him taking the vaccine. The threat that he could be turning into a supersoldier was still too great in his mind.

* * *

"You're sure about this?"

They were sitting, facing each other. The needle and vial were the only things on Dr Scully's desk. The needle didn't look too big and the small vial was full of clear liquid.

"Yes," he said.

There was a handwritten sticker on the side. Dr Scully didn't stop him when he picked up the vial to read it. The string of chemical prefixes meant nothing to him, nor did the numbers which he assumed were for dosage.

"We'll have to think of a name for it," she said.

"Maybe we should have a contest?"

He put the vial back, his hand steady. "Your mom's doing fine, isn't she?"

His question was deliberate. Dr Scully looked unhappy and Liam knew she was regretting her offer. But Mrs Scully had received her dose of the vaccine a day ago and was showing no signs of any adverse reaction. He hoped his gentle reminder would be enough.

He didn't want to give her any chance to back out. He rolled up his left sleeve and waited.

Dr Scully took in a large breath, picked up the needle and vaccine, and drew off a small amount from the vial.

"Little scratch," she murmured and Liam felt the needle sink into his flesh.

His arm tickled for a second but he looked down to watch her press the plunger. The clear liquid drained away and his arm tingled icily. He didn't feel the needle slide out. When it was over, Dr Scully swabbed the needle prick. A tiny drop of blood beaded on his skin.

It was a very small price to pay for peace of mind. He imagined the liquid coursing through his body, attaching itself to cells, ready to fight any kind of hidden virus that might one day try to turn him into the enemy.

"Stick close by me today, Liam. Where I can keep an eye on you."

He readjusted his sleeve and reached into a bag at his feet, pulling out the detested script for Major Drummond's Easter play. He would stay here until she told him he could leave. Might as well put the time to productive use. He thumbed through the pages. "Thank you."

Nothing he could say would take the worried look off her face.

"I don't know if you should be thanking me or cursing me, Liam."


	26. Chapter 26

Easter Sunday  
April 8, 2012  
New Mexico

Hands jabbed into his back.

Liam's feet tangled as he staggered beyond the curtain into the view of the packed hall. It was his nightmare made real.

The stage was lit but the audience was in darkness, their faces hidden.

Jaw clenching, he threw himself into his humiliation. Literally. He fell to his knees and clutched at the hem of the cape dangling around Pontius Pilate's bony ankles.

"Spare me, oh mighty Governor. One begs of Rome, look favorably on this poor creature."

He improvised a wail, and when the audience failed to restrain their laughter, he was encouraged to take it further.

"Alas! My poor wives and eleven children—who shall provide for them if I am not? Shall Rome protect my fatherless babes and six maiden sisters? I beg upon you, oh splendiferous Pontius, bestow upon me the grace of true pardon!"

Once he got the hang of the rhythm, it was too easy to elaborate on Major Drummond's script.

"Up, thief—rabble-rouser. This"—Aaron was a master of the inflection of scorn, sharing a slither of a smile with the audience—"is who you'd have Rome release? What of _this_ man?" He swirled his cape. "This Jesus?"

Nick was a good choice for Jesus. He slouched serenely off to one side of their makeshift stage, hands bound and drawing every eye in the room at the mention of his name. The audience had been his ever since he opened his mouth; Aaron had teased him for it until it became obvious Nick didn't care—he really liked to sing.

Liam didn't. The first rehearsal for Major Drummond's Easter play ended in a ten-minute standoff.

Liam's voice refused to participate. The actors stopped and started, stopped and started the same scene seven times. Each time his jaw locked. Major Drummond tried praise, then beration, to goad Liam into action—and when Liam did open his mouth, all that fell out was a strangled croak.

The Major had no choice but to recast the role of Simon of Cyrene, whose musical verses acted as a semi-narration of events.

Ellie thought Liam was mad passing up the chance to have a "starring role," but never once during rehearsals had he felt any regret.

As it was, the Major had his revenge, and Liam found himself with a speaking part. He could cope with that.

As Barabbas he had less time on stage and only one line to sing (croak) in a cast number. The threat of that one line was enough to set off his stage fright until Mulder suggested he sing it as though he was the comic relief—which helped him develop Barabbas's back story (which he was careful never to reveal to the Major).

Barabbas's line delivered and his future as a free man secured, and Jesus doomed to crucifixion, Liam chose to characterize his exit with a jaunty step and a catchy whistle (one Toby had suggested, and which seemed to fit his character's mood). The whistle was another crowd pleaser—a ripple of laughter went across the room.

It had all been so easy he wondered why he had put up so much of a fuss in the first place. It wasn't like the new Simon of Cyrene had been that much better than he would have been.

The turnout for Major Drummond's Easter play had exceeded expectations—even Gibson and Rudi, the camp's two most reclusive figures, showed up for seats.

They hadn't come to watch the play.

Major Drummond's cheeks were straining scarlet when Liam bowled into him behind the curtain off stage.

"Think that was funny, boy?" Santa Claus had sprouted fangs. A fleck of spit belly flopped onto the tip of Liam's nose. The Major's face loomed in close. "I'll talk to you. Later."

Liam's stomach knotted. He hopped over prop palm fronds and market tables, over the cardboard crucifix, to the wall where the other offstage actors waited.

_What did I do to deserve that?_ Was a little ad-libbing all that bad?

He leaned against the wall. Somewhere, on stage, someone might have been crying. They sounded far, far away.

Liam waited in a cold fog while the play unfolded and Simon of Cyrene sang his final notes to finish it off. Liam took his bows with the rest of the cast and filed off-stage to sit on the floor at the head of the audience. The lights came up. He pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them.

The Major waited for the clapping to end before he pulled his lectern out. He panned across the audience rows, craning his neck to take in faces in the far corners.

"Today we are Simon."

A rustle of interest swept the audience. Liam didn't have to look behind him to know backs had straightened.

"Today we are asked to shoulder a burden. Today we are visitors in Jerusalem for Passover, plucked from the crowd. Coming face-to-face with this strange, bloodied … debased man. Compelled to lift up the end of the Cross and stand behind Him as He reels and staggers along the road to Golgotha."

The Major's voice beat like a hammer on their anvil ears. His fingers curled around the edges of the lectern as he leaned over it—and over the room.

The muscles across Liam's shoulder blades were rigid.

"You know Simon's feelings: the confusion, the anger, the resignation, the shame, the embarrassment. You know these feelings because they are your feelings. Because, today, you are Simon. Plucked from the crowd. Weighed down with knowledge, with belief. Asked to take action."

Whatever their thoughts or feelings, no one in the congregation moved or whispered. No one in the front row fidgeted.

"We have all been singled out. Pressed into action the day we chose to remain here and fight.

"Why this burden today? Jesus bought us eternal life, didn't He? Salvation and forgiveness through a supreme act of love when He died for us on the Cross. That was two thousand years ago. Surely that takes care of matters? The battle for our mortal salvation is over. Isn't it?

"The Holy Father knows every moment of time, I tell you—He _is_ every moment in time. Shoulder a burden today in Christ's name and you are Simon of Cyrene."

"On your shoulder, your hands on that Cross."

The Major wheeled about and spread his arms beneath the cardboard crucifix which had been rigged to hang from the ceiling. His voice crashed and careened, the emotions in his message hurtling and swooping like a roller coaster.

"Shouldering a burden today we reaffirm Simon's act. God is all time. When we place our own hands on the Cross today we reach across time. We heft it on our own back. We share a burden with Christ.

"But today's crosses no longer look the same. Today's crosses come in different sizes, different shapes—and carrying them requires not physical strength but moral fortitude."

"And today we in this room are faced with our own important cross."

This was it—it had to be—the reason they'd all come this morning. They'd been building to this point for a month—ever since he and Mrs Scully received the vaccine. Had it only been a few weeks ago?

Liam had been persistent in checking on her, pushing his luck. "How are you feeling today, Mrs Scully?" he'd ask.

She had tolerated to his constant concern. She knew he was worried about the vaccine, and she took time to consider his questions and answer truthfully.

He had been dying to tell her—and still was—she wasn't going through the experience alone.

Liam never had any side effects. He had met Dr Scully everyday so she could check him and record any potential symptoms. He always passed with flying colors.

He remembered his final conversation with Mrs Scully about it.

"For the last time, Liam, I'm fine. Never been better," she said. "Arms up."

The shirt came over his head.

She pinched the material in under his arms. "Have you talked to Major Drummond yet?"

"I was kind of hoping Mom would."

Little silver flashes flicked in and out as she stitched the shirt.

"That's not like you, Liam. He doesn't bite. If you just explain the situation he'll understand. Singing is not everyone's thing—and it would be wrong to be forced to do something when you had no say in it."

"Yeah, I guess."

"But?"

Liam shrugged. "I don't know."

He hadn't been able to tell her his real thoughts: that he watched the Major closely; that he felt an inexplicable need to avoid drawing attention to himself (especially after his first disastrous rehearsal).

Partly it was because of the vaccine—his worst fear was blurting something he shouldn't—but that wasn't all of it.

Mrs Scully was altering hand-me downs for him. She straightened the seams across his shoulders.

"How long before they decide the vaccine is safe?" Liam asked.

Mrs Scully frowned as she checked for evenness. "Not too much longer. No one's had a serious reaction so far, and I don't think we can afford to wait."

After Mrs Scully received her dose, others had lined up to test the vaccine. Dr Scully had officially been charting the health of six adults.

Liam had no doubts about the vaccine. He was convinced it had cured him of his nightmares and would stop anyone else turning into a supersoldier. Since receiving it, his sleep had been uninterrupted and dreamless, and he hadn't sensed he was being watched for weeks.

Dr Scully listened to his assessment gravely but wouldn't comment one way or the other. In the days following their vaccinations, she hovered close around both her mother and Liam.

The first twenty-four hours had been the worst. It must have been difficult for her to come up with plausible excuses to stay near him. At night she seemed reluctant to let either of them disappear from her sight, waylaying them both in the mess hall well past his usual bedtime.

Liam learned later Dr Scully had dozed in a chair across from her mother for two nights. When it appeared she would do the same a third night, Mrs Scully snapped.

"I'm not going to allow you to use me as an excuse to ignore your own health—you get some decent sleep tonight."

Mrs Scully's tone had been sharp, eliciting stares from several people at dinner time. She brought the battle to a public place. Dr Scully reddened but by the time she glared around the room, heads were bowed again over plates.

The doctor must have taken her mother's advice; by the third day, with neither Liam nor Mrs Scully showing any adverse reaction, her face and posture lightened.

The strain returned on the fifth day when a second adult received the vaccine, but Dr Scully bounced back, and Liam sensed her confidence in the vaccine was growing.

That had been only a few weeks before Easter. Nothing had been announced to the camp.

Until today.

Liam lifted his chin on his knees to focus on Major Drummond.

"It is no secret we have been trialing a vaccine. One we believe will protect us from enslavement—or worse: extinction."

_At last!_

"Believers, you might well be asking how extinction could be God's plan."

Major Drummond's face roved the room, his eyes bright.

"It's not, I tell you. God has blessed us with good minds and tenacious spirits."

Liam let out a frustrated sigh.

"It can not be by chance that those who are here _are here_. God has called together the people who know what to do with the tools given us. This is the key to facing the biggest threat we will ever encounter."

Doubt didn't seem to be a word Major Drummond was acquainted with; day-follows-night, the sun-rises-in-the-east, he believed everything he was saying.

_And why shouldn't he be right? Maybe we are special._ Events were stacked up like his mother's fine china collection; too many seemed too aligned, too convenient. How could everything that had happened to him be coincidence?

"God does not want us to give in, to accede to this invasion. It's His plan that we should fight it.

"We do not face this battle alone.

"But we know our heads and hands alone are not enough. More is needed. Without our hearts—without love—our plans will fall apart like sandcastles in the desert."

Liam scrunched and unscrunched his toes, pushing his feet into the floor, then lifting them and rocking back. He wished Major Drummond would skip to the good bit.

"What of the man who says 'so what?' _He_ may say, 'What does it matter? Our immortal salvation has already been secured.'"

"Such a man is foolish. Yes, the price paid by Christ has secured our redemption—and yes, the Day of his Return is set.

"But who knows the day of that Return? The Old Testament prophets? The modern day clairvoyants and spiritualists?" He paused with a sly smile. "The ancient Mayans?"

"People may ask me: 'How can you be so sure Christ will not return on December 22? That this isn't the Day of the Return? I remind myself of Matthew's words: 'About that day and hour no one knows, not the angels of heaven, nor the Son—the Father only knows.'

"I do not believe the Day of the Return was revealed to these Mayans; I _do_ believe it falls on us to labor and sacrifice until we breathe our last breaths to ensure—as best we are able—others will come after us who can have their chance to choose repentance, to receive Christ's redemption."

"I believe God wants us to defend His creation—I have faith in Him. I believe He offered us unfathomable mercy when He sent His only Son to live an earthly life. He valued His creation—and He wants us to value it too."

Liam stretched his neck and saw his friends twisting and changing position.

Unfolding her legs, Ellie mimed death by boredom. "How much longer?"

Major Drummond stepped out from behind his leaning post. His voice carried, deep and ringing.

"Jesus was the Lamb of God. His ultimate act of love—His sacrifice—brought us eternal salvation."

His words were a threat.

Liam, white-knuckled, wrapped his hands around his feet, curling himself up tight. How far was the Major saying they would have to go? The rollout of the vaccine was a gamble but not the biggest risk Liam could see.

The Major had talked about sacrifice before. This time, though, his message seemed to go further. The eyes of the small children on the floor next to Liam were as round as flying saucers. How much did they understand? Maybe not everything, but they could tell something was up.

_What are we sacrificing?_

"We have a vaccine. It has been trialed on six adults. None experienced immediate side effects, none have shown any reaction since. We have no way of knowing for sure the vaccine works. At best we are guessing. Our guesses are educated—yes—but can be nothing more. We have no more time. We must act now.

"Who was Simon of Cyrene? No one special. Not a noble man or a wealthy merchant. Not one of Christ's disciples, not one of the many outcasts or ill He cured.

"Was Simon forced to carry the cross? Or did he offer to help? We don't know. It doesn't matter. Simon put himself under a wooden cross—that was his burden; our cross is not wooden—but it is no less of a burden. Our cross is made of fear and blindness. Fear because we do not know what we face. Blindness because we can not see what we face.

"Today God asks us to put our hands on the cross and walk with Christ. Today we are asked to support Him the only way we can."

Liam felt himself shrink from the Major's intense stare which swept over his audience.

"Today we are Simon—and we are something else." The Major took a deep breath.

"Today God asks us to be His lambs."

* * *

"You got me in trouble."

Toby laughed off the accusation and the hoots and jeers from his companions. Cards dropped from his hand next to a small pile of stones on the picnic table top. "What did I do?"

Gibson raised an eyebrow. It still unnerved Liam to see him spending time with other people. With the exception of the accountant and one of Eric Hosteen's grizzled old trackers, the men at the table all had to be in their early twenties. It had never occurred to him before, but Liam wondered if they ever sometimes got sick of not having many girls to talk to.

He saw a dash of color behind a building and he called to Sal before confronting Toby again. " _Always Look on the Bright Side of Life_?"

Toby grinned. "It's a salutary piece of advice."

"That's what you got me to whistle."

"Everyone loved it—you stole the show."

"The whistle?" Shu laughed. "The whistle was very good. Very funny."

"No, it wasn't." Liam scowled. "Major Drummond complained to Mom and now I'm stuck doing dishes for a week."

"But it was worth it, wasn't it?" Toby was a picture of innocence. Sal trotted to the picnic table and sat beside him and the accountant. They scratched behind her ears. Her tongue hung out, making Liam laugh.

"Traitor," he said, but he was grinning too so Toby had to know he wasn't really angry.

Toby pushed his cards and stones along the table top. "Shove over, Al—make some space for Liam."

They were soaking up the sunshine—Alan was spread across one side of the picnic table bench, an arm bent under his head, which lifted a fraction while he peered out from under his sunglasses. "Hey, Liam. You were awesome, by the way."

" _You_ were great," Toby said. "Too bad the rest of the morning was bull."

Liam climbed over the bench to sit down. "Was the play _that_ bad?"

"If you hated it so much why did you stay?" asked the accountant (who had a head of gray hair, always dressed like he was heading to his office, and had a name Liam still couldn't remember).

"Not the play." Toby let his glasses slip to the bottom of his nose and blew his cheeks out. He picked up his cards and held them to his heart. He tucked his chin into his neck and with a voice that came deep from his chest, he intoned, "Today, we are the lambs!"

His expression soured. "Why does everything have to be such a fucking production with that man?"

Alan, still flat on his back, let out a chuckle. "You let yourself get worked up over the strangest things, Smith."

"Little kids were there today. They did not need to hear that crap."

"Liam's a kid—not so little any more but still a kid. He doesn't seem bothered."

"I'm not bothered," Liam said with a shrug. "Major Drummond thinks God wants us to sacrifice ourselves to test the vaccine."

"Seems a reasonable approximation of events," the accountant said.

"I'd agree with that." Gibson was having a friendly day; they were occurring with more frequency.

"Two pair." Toby threw his last cards down. The accountant bared his teeth and spread two aces and three kings before scooping up a pile of stones from the middle of the table. The pile in front of him was three times larger than anyone else's. Toby watched the man pat his pebbles into a neat pyramid. "Yeah. Well, Liam's not your average kid. For one thing, he can keep secrets."

The silence was instant and Liam felt the force of several pairs of eyes on him.

_Not again._ He wanted to roll his eyes. Instead, he bit his lip and nodded.

"The Major's an idiot, Liam—I didn't tell you that. He's got some stupid ideas and he thinks he's inspiring us to some great moral victory. He thinks we're fighting on some metaphysical plane. He's not and we're not. He wasn't entirely honest today, and that's what I don't like. People didn't get the whole truth."

The table jiggled as Toby shuffled the cards. Sunlight flashed off the shiny rims of his glasses.

"Oh yeah?" Cooper eyed Toby. "What's the whole truth then?"

"Even if the vaccine is effective, there's no way everyone can be vaccinated in time. We probably don't _need_ everyone to be vaccinated—but there _is_ a critical number we need to meet. And if we don't reach it, having the vaccine is probably next to pointless."

Alan pulled his hat over his face; Shu traced a finger along a crack in the tabletop.

"Would you believe it?" The cards cascaded to a standstill. "The infrastructure's there to get the vaccine out. For years groups have been quietly building networks for production and dispersal, developing cover stories to prepare populations for the uptake of the vaccine. We've had a plan—kind of. But we've never really been sure what any of those colonization dates meant. Was it supposed to be rolled out gradually or was it going to happen all at once? No one knew. Now it's looking more and more likely December 22 is a critical deadline for us—and it's simply not feasible to get enough people done in time."

The accountant rubbed his head. "That was our whole plan, wasn't it? Mass vaccination to render an invasion pointless. What happens if not enough people get the vaccine?"

Toby shrugged. "Ask Drummond. He's the one with the hotline to Heaven."

"He's just one man—how'd he get to be here, anyway? Seems strange how everyone defers to him."

Toby fingered a card, deep in thought. "Official story? He was a military engineer way back. Quit years ago. I never heard how he got into the church but he was in New Jersey for a long time. I heard"—Toby glanced at Gibson—"something went down there. I get the impression he ran into some trouble—maybe gambling debts? Misappropriation of funds? Who knows? He ended up back _here_ because of his engineering background. He set this place up. He's been here since day one."

Alan hoisted himself up on his elbows. "He ended up here like everyone else—either he or someone he knew was abducted."

"So what was it?"

"Wife, I think—he doesn't talk about it."

Liam had worked out early on to be careful asking why people had come to the camp. Some brought it up themselves—like the opportunity was a relief; others, like Dr Scully, were guarded about their experiences.

"So that's it? We place our faith in the hands of a vaccine which may or may not work? There's no plan B?"

Toby snorted. "That _is_ Plan B." His fingers dispensed the cards (skipping Liam) with mechanical dexterity. "The second supersoldier's been gone for weeks. Nobody's heard anything—so we can't pin any hopes on that."

The accountant stared at his cards before his lips peeled back in a vicious smile. "Wouldn't it be great if we could, you know, give them a taste of their own medicine? Infect _them_ with a virus?"

Toby grinned. " _That_ was plan A."

Was he joking? Maybe he was—the accountant didn't seem to think so.

"We've looked into it? And what? No go?"

"You've seen one too many movies, bud," Al said from beneath his hat.

The man ducked his head. "Maybe. Viruses and nanobots—I suppose it's all too much to ask for."

"Nanobots?" Toby's grin twisted. "While we're at it, let's steal the batmobile."

"It's not _that_ unrealistic," the man replied. "Researchers have been working on them for more than a decade."

"You think we haven't discussed it? Before Scully isolated the virus—and that was by pure luck—we had all sorts of grand ideas brewing—"

"We had to," Shu said.

Al's hat nodded. "A faceless, creeping enemy. Smoking ghosts—how do you fight that sort of thing?"

"Some of our ideas were practical, most were just talk," Toby said. "Truth is when we decided to base ourselves here, we made things ten times harder for ourselves. We never stopped playing the what-if game, but ..."

Sal nudged Liam in the back, tempting him back to their walk. The conversation had gone somber.

"It's not that the nanobot idea is stupid—far from it. At this stage of the game it's out of our time frame. You're talking about years of R and D access to cutting-edge technology. People have been working on the technology—but no one's come anywhere close enough. And now, out here"—he looked to the mountain ranges that surrounded them—"it's beyond _our_ reach, at least. Doesn't mean anyone else isn't trying, but here we have to accept there's just no way someone is going to walk into this camp now and say here's a box of nanobots—knock yourselves out."

"That would be an unusual stroke of luck," the accountant said.

Sal barked and Skinner and Mulder emerged from a door, a basketball under Mulder's elbow.

"We're heading that way." Mulder nodded toward the court. "Anyone want to join us?"

"Maybe later," Gibson said.

The men moved off. When they were beyond earshot, Toby resumed.

"Even if someone did turn up with nanobots what are we supposed to do with them?"

"That's really our first problem," Al said. "What kills the little fuckers?"

The accountant jumped in with an answer. "Use nanobots which can transmit the results back to base so you can study the ship system then tailor a biological response. Remote controlled nanobots—didn't the shapeshifter tell you the ships are made out of some biological-metallic hybrid material?"

Al put on a robotic voice. "We are the Borg. Resistance is futile!"

"But think! The damage you could do might be limitless! You could solve your problems once and for all!"

Toby looked at the accountant with admiration. "You really weren't listening, were you?"

"I can dream," the man said, straight faced.

Shu tapped his cards against his chin. "Did Jeremiah Smith talk about the Grays' ships? I don't remember."

"Doesn't matter who said it; it's a popular theory," the accountant replied. "Some stories describe ships doing crazy things; Rudi's artifact—that's another bit of evidence."

Rudi dipped his head at the accountant. "It _was_ alive."

Cooper scratched his whiskers.

"Does it need to be something sophisticated?" he asked. "I've never heard anything that said Grays were immune to bullets. Rudi's group managed to do it—that suggests the Grays are more vulnerable than supersoldiers and shapeshifters. You consider the Trojan horse idea? Load up a crate with firepower and as many man as you can fit, get the Grays to take it on board and let rip."

"Wow … that's so damn obvious I wonder how we never thought of it before?" Toby sneered but when he continued he dropped the sarcasm. "Sneaking contraband onto a spaceship isn't that easy. It took Rudi's grandfather years to pull it off."

"And _he_ was psychic." Rudi was so quiet Liam would have missed the comment if he hadn't seen Rudi's mouth move.

Cooper's shoulders twitched. "Pity."

"Yeah."

The accountant fingered his pebbles as he examined his hand. "Cooper raises a good point. We must know _something_ about the Grays."

Liam studied the man. He's _like a dog with a bone._ Sal let out a whine.

"This hasn't been a one-way game. The conspirators had years to study them. Didn't Mulder find a boxcar full of gray corpses sometime? Corpses with smallpox vaccination scars—"

Toby shook his head. "That doesn't mean anything. All that research? Everything the conspiracy learned? All blew up when they killed the last surviving member."

Liam rubbed his neck where sunlight beat down on it.

"Alright, alright," the accountant said. "I get it—no nanobots, no intelligent nanobot viruses. It's foolish even thinking about it."

Al sat up. "Not foolish, man. Depressing."

"Can we get on with the game then?" Toby waved the cards in his hand.

Gibson knocked the table standing up. He was looking in the direction Mulder had gone. "I think I'll sit this one out. Thanks for the invite, guys. Catch you later."

Rudi was quick to follow.

Frowning, Toby watched them leave. "Gibson's not so bad … but I can never tell if he's getting extra help when we play."


	27. Chapter 27

April 9, 2012  
New Mexico

The morning after Easter Sunday a queue stretched along the hallway outside the infirmary. There was no shortage of volunteers to receive the vaccine.

Liam didn't know if the volunteers were there because they'd been inspired by Major Drummond's speech or if they'd already decided the risk was worth it.

Pride swelled in Liam's chest as he stood by his dad. Despite an intense discussion the night before (in which both his parents had expressed concern about the injection), Liam's father was at the head of the line.

Liam's conversation with Toby had dampened his excitement about the vaccine, but Toby had admitted it was better than nothing.

Liam's mother would not receive the shot for a month and no date was set for children to be vaccinated, but that didn't stop Liam and Marie joining Harry as he waited for Dr Scully to start the rollout.

Vaccinations were done in order of priority; anyone who patrolled the camp and beyond or made supply treks topped the list. Couriers were also important; these were the people who were going to smuggle the vaccine to labs around the country (and the world) where it could be reproduced.

Abductees' families were more at-risk than the abductees themselves (who had their own natural vaccination when Jeremiah Smith healed them).

Few adults would forgo the shot, but when it came to the children the reluctance was clear. Even Dr Scully, who had the benefit of knowing Liam had been unharmed by his dose, was happy for any inoculation date to be pushed back.

"She's all set for you, Harry." Mrs Scully, acting as her daughter's assistant, ushered the van de Kamps into the infirmary.

Dr Scully had set up at the back of the room.

"Last chance to back out," she said, needle in hand. Her voice was cheerful but the deep shadows under her eyes were worrying. She had arranged a tray of needles and vials next to a chair, into which she motioned Liam's dad.

He pushed up a sleeve."Nope. We'll see this to the end."

Liam's mother nodded. "We've come this far."

With a quick movement, the needle sank into his arm and then Dr Scully was wiping the prick mark. That was all there was to it.

Liam's dad bounded from the chair and thanked the doctor. "That wasn't so bad."

"If you notice anything—"

"Don't worry, Doc—I'll be back quicker than a moose on hot sauce."

Liam followed his parents to the door when Mrs Scully called to him.

"Liam, will you tell the next person to wait, please." She was at Dr Scully's side, offering her a glass of water. Dr Scully had pressed her thumb into her eye socket.

"Yes, ma'am."

His dad had been her first patient, but Dr Scully already looked as though she'd been on her feet all day. Sympathy pain developed in his head. How much longer would everyone go on pretending everything was fine?

By lunchtime the day had settled back into a normal Monday.

"Guess what I saw?" Ellie took a mouthful of sandwich.

Liam hated these sorts of questions. "I dunno. Major Drummond pick his nose and eat it?"

Ellie was withering. "No, stupid. That's disgusting! I saw Gibson yelling at Mulder."

"Really?" That _was_ interesting—not that he'd never seen them argue. "What were they fighting about."

"They were outside the infirmary. I was waiting inside for Mom—she was the last person to get her shot today and she was talking to Dr Scully. I opened the door and walked into Mulder. I think Gibson was trying to barge in, but Mulder was blocking the way. I don't know what they were fighting over. Mulder told Gibson he was making a mistake.

"I suppose it wasn't really yelling," she said, "but Gibson looked angry. He stalked off and Mulder followed him."

Liam watched out for both men all afternoon, but despite the renewed bustle about the camp he crossed paths with neither. He struggled to think why the pair would be at odds. Mulder hadn't been on any mystery trips for weeks—not since February—and Gibson had been getting on with everyone.

Camp was buzzing because the first courier trek was about to set off—Liam heard five adults were going that evening. They were leaving together but heading to different destinations.

Now that the weather was warming, his mother and the Scullys had taken to having afternoon drinks outside. Liam was with his mother, about to join his friends for a game of baseball, when Mrs Scully arrived alone.

"Your kids are never too old to be ordered around," she said to Mrs van de Kamp as she settled down at the picnic table. "I sent Dana to bed with a migraine. I have no idea how she stayed on her feet today."

Liam hadn't had a bad headache in months—not since Jeremiah escaped with the artifact—but he remembered what they were like.

"Will she be okay?" Marie asked.

Mrs Scully rubbed her temple. "She'll be fine after a rest."

Liam excused himself and hurried downstairs.

He shouldn't disturb the doctor, but a compulsion he didn't understand made him seek her out. He couldn't stop himself; maybe he could do something.

Voices booming through the corridor made him slow when he neared her quarters.

"You're making a mistake, Gibson. It's a trap and you know it."

Gibson had Mulder bailed against his door—the same way Ellie had described.

" _I'm_ making a mistake? The vaccine isn't enough—you know that!"

Mulder's arms were crossed. "I can't keep leaving Scully. Not this time."

Gibson wasn't as tall as Mulder but he was broad and he was pushing into Mulder's space.

"At the expense of everyone else? You know this is a good idea—the best, in fact. Have you even discussed it with Scully?"

"I don't—" Mulder's eyes locked with Liam's.

"I _know_ you haven't—" Gibson's glower deepened when he too caught sight of Liam. He took a step back but he didn't leave.

Mulder straightened. "She doesn't need this."

Liam shifted on his feet, studying the pattern on the floor. Gibson didn't give him a chance to leave politely. He went on as if Liam wasn't there—or he didn't care what Liam heard.

"Have some more faith in her. She's not strong enough. She's suffered enough. That's your fallback excuse now. Scully doesn't give a shit. She keeps going because that's what Scully does."

Anger radiated from both men.

"You can be extremely obnoxious sometimes."

Gibson flicked his hand like he was waving off a mosquito. "Because you don't like hearing the truth? Remember years ago? You thought Scully was in trouble? I told you not to go back. It wasn't her in danger. You didn't listen to me then and—you nearly got killed. You make mistakes, Mulder. Stupid, stupid mistakes. Ignore this information and you'll make another one. And it'll probably be your last. And if it's your last, you can damn well bet it'll be our last too."

Mulder sagged. "Sometimes _you_ put too much faith in me."

He was caving—but not without resistance. "It's risky, Gibson. It might expose us too much—and for what? Nothing. If they discover how we've been hiding out here, that's our best protection gone. They're already suspicious."

Shaking his head, Gibson caught Liam's eye again.

"We have a powerful weapon. A game changer—you know that. Marita's help could be just what we need to use her."

"Listen to yourself, Gibson. Have you thought this through? What would this make us? Fight genocide with genocide? That's your solution? Have we all gone so mad that we can accept this idea without considering the consequences?"

Gibson's lip curled. "Bullshit. You're lying to yourself and you know it. If saving Scully meant wiping out the Grays, you'd do it in a heartbeat—don't kid yourself. Leave the sermonizing to the experts.

"Anyway—who made it your right to get to decide what we do or don't do? If they found out you were deliberately keeping this from them, this place would explode."

"We agreed some things had to remain secret."

"Sure, I agreed," Gibson said, "some things _need_ to stay secret, but Marita's message—what she can do for us—shouldn't be one of those things.

"You're worried about Scully and you're trying to do the right thing—but now is not the time to get all responsible and shit. Besides. She's forgiven you every other time you ditched her."

_She_ _forgave_ _you_ _for_ _not_ _telling her about seeing dead people._

"Call it a hunch, but I think Scully is going to be alright. After everything you've endured. You almost believe it yourself."

Not for the first time Liam wished he knew more about Mulder and Dr Scully's adventures at the FBI.

"What if that old guy is right—Scully doesn't die. Maybe if you stopped spending so much time feeling guilty about her, you'd see you're wasting time and energy."

He had one final arrow to fire. "You know, Mulder, maybe if you invested a bit more in faith, you'd be free from some of that self-delusion which makes you such a miserable bastard."

Mulder raised a brow. "This is a new tune for you, Gibson. I never took you for a risk-taker—you've never needed to be. Your chess career was built not on your ability to take chances but on your absolute command of the battlefield. There wasn't a step any opponent could make that you weren't prepared for. Where is this sudden love of chance coming from?"

Liam watched Gibson strain to control himself. His face had gone scarlet and his mouth puckered as he held in a retort. "Fine. You're not interested. Others will be!"

He brushed past Liam as he stomped down the corridor.

They watched Gibson disappear around a corner, then Mulder gave Liam a querying look.

"I came by to see if Dr Scully was alright," Liam said, feeling his cheeks burn. It had been uncomfortable seeing them fight.

"She's sleeping."

"That's good."

"Yes."

"I suppose you don't want me telling anyone about …?"

"I appreciate your discretion although it looks like Gibson's going to give it all away anyway."

Liam scuffed a foot against a crack in the flooring. "It's cancer, isn't it?"

"Yes." Mulder pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes. "Probably. Without proper equipment—"

"Can I see her?"

"I don't think that's a good idea—not just now."

Liam didn't know what to feel or what to do. He ended up in his room. He talked to Jerry, he flicked through a book, he lay on his bed. He stared so hard at the cinder blocks in the wall the lines blurred and he told himself if he could just look beyond, he could see into Dr Scully herself and hunt down the cancer. Send his medic molecules in to find the cancer and destroy it.

Stupid. He didn't even know where the cancer was. And medicine, sadly, didn't work that way.

* * *

Liam pretended nothing was wrong that night when his parents collected him for dinner. He wasn't sure how to raise the subject—and he wasn't sure if he _should_ raise it.

He was shoveling mashed potato into his mouth when his dad was tapped on the shoulder.

Major Drummond bent between Liam's parents. "Can I trust you two to be in the meeting room in an hour?"

"Of course." Harry put his fork down. "There hasn't been a breach, has there? Not Doggett?"

Despite the supersoldier's inability to escape his prison (and his lack of effort to do so), a twenty-four hour watch was still kept on the pit. Liam's dad had been spending long hours on duty near the hole.

"No breach," the Major said. "Gibson has put a proposal before us which needs immediate consideration."

Major Drummond eased himself around tables, stopping to speak to several other diners.

"What do you think it is?" Liam asked.

His dad shrugged. "Who knows? Could be anything. Can't be that serious—not if he didn't mind you listening in."

There had been a lot of that happening lately. Toby had talked openly about his concerns the day before; Gibson and Mulder hadn't shooed him away this afternoon. Perhaps the grownups had realized the more effort you made to keep a secret, the harder that secret strived to free itself. There was a lesson in it for him.

* * *

Liam mucked around doing homework that evening. His books were spread over the little table and he opened a few (and moved others around) to feign interest.

His parents' voices echoed in the hall before the door swung.

"—can understand his concern but it isn't his decision to make." Liam's mother slipped inside, removing her coat.

"If not his, then whose?" Liam's dad shut the door and pulled out a chair opposite Liam. Neither seemed surprised to see him. "You not finished yet, Lee?"

"I was waiting for you guys."

His parents shared a look.

"Nice to see he's still got a healthy respect for honesty," Harry said.

There was no point lying. "Are you going to tell me the latest?"

Liam was half-expecting one or both of his parents to hurry him off to bed. His dad's answer took him back.

"I don't see why not—you'd find out anyway. Gibson wants Mulder to track down a woman in New York about a device which may give us access to technology which might give us another way of protecting ourselves."

Liam closed his books and piled them. "What kind of technology?"

Harry grinned. "This is where it gets weird."

"I love weird. Bring on the weird," Liam said.

"Nanobots—microscopic robots."

Alarm bells rang. He replayed the previous day's conversation around the picnic table. It _could_ be coincidence. "Seriously?"

"Gibson believes this woman has tried to make contact with Mulder."

"How?"

"He says it's taken him a month to work it out because the message wasn't delivered directly, and the messenger didn't know he was a messenger."

Liam made a face. "Sounds complicated."

"That it does. I almost agree with Mulder on that basis."

"What does Mulder say?"

"Thinks it's a trap."

Liam's mother, who had gone into her bedroom, returned in her dressing gown with a comb in hand. "I know he said it was a trap, Harry, but I got the impression he wants to go. It was like he was using the trap explanation to justify to himself why he couldn't go."

Mr van de Kamp, hands laced behind his head, tilted back in his chair. "I was thinking along the same lines. He hasn't left the camp for weeks."

"Did something happen on his last trip?"

"I don't think so—he was only gone a little over a week." Liam's dad concentrated on the ceiling. "Slipped back into camp looking reasonably pleased with himself."

Liam knew why Mulder was reluctant to leave. _Should I say something?_ The room slipped into quiet, broken only by the elastic snap of the comb through his mother's hair.

"At some point they're going to have to come clean with us," Marie said.

Liam felt her hand and the tingle of the comb against his head. "Sit still, Liam. Let me do something with this rat's nest."

"Why the secrecy, do you think?" his dad asked.

"Habit?"

Liam twisted to confront his mother. " _You_ know Dr Scully's sick, don't you?"

The comb paused, mid-snag. "What do _you_ know, Liam?"

"Mulder thinks she has cancer." Saying the word felt strange.

The comb continued its path through a particularly tangled thicket of hair. "It's unnerving how much you ferret out, Liam. We don't know anything official. It's hard to get Dana to admit to much and I don't like to push."

"Gibson must know. Calling a meeting was a dirty trick. It's unfair to expect Mulder to leave now." Blood shot to his scalp when his mother hit another snaggle.

His dad leaned back. "I presume he wanted to force Mulder's hand. Gibson said he'd go but doubted how successful he'd be finding the woman by himself. He was certain about one thing—the woman wouldn't trust anyone but Mulder."

"Are they going to make him go?"

"Major Drummond wants Mulder to go—he doesn't want Gibson to leave camp. He was livid when he found out about this woman; he seemed to think Mulder had withheld valuable information on purpose."

"And Mulder doesn't want to leave Dr Scully." Liam frowned. "What does she say?"

Marie paused combing. "Mulder doesn't want her to know. She wasn't there tonight."

Mulder was delaying the inevitable if he thought he could keep this from her. "He doesn't want her to know because she'll tell him to go."

His mother's rested on his shoulder. "I imagine that's true, Liam."

* * *

Dr Scully stayed in her room the following day and Mulder refused to leave her side. Gibson made no effort to hide his rotten temper. Once upon a time he would have taken himself away to brood in private, but these days he didn't seem to mind being around people whether he was in a good mood or not. No one was spared.

He barked at grownups and children. Only Skinner was able to calm him, and only then on occasion.

"Would you get that fucking cough seen to," he said to one victim as they waited in line for dinner.

The recipient of the attack—the accountant—recoiled, pressing his tray against his chest. "It's nothing—just a spring cold."

Gibson glared at him. "The last thing we need is some virulent strain of the flu going through here. Only a few people escaped a nasty outbreak last year."

Mr Skinner, who had been behind Gibson, looked in another direction.

"Fine. I'll get it checked."

"You do that," Gibson said before he leaned around and yelled to the head of the line. "Think you can move a bit faster? Some of us would like to eat before the next apocalypse."

"Was that necessary?" Liam heard Mr Skinner say.

Liam's fears over Dr Scully's health were assuaged a day later when Mulder told him she was feeling better. She had gone topside for air. Liam rushed upstairs after school but by then she had gone.

On the fourth day it was as if there was nothing wrong with her, and she resumed her lab and medical duties (despite a protest from Mulder that she should minimize her exposure to any sort of virus).

By the pack on Mulder's back a day later Liam knew Gibson (and possibly Dr Scully) had won. Liam joined Mulder on his trek to the mess hall for an early breakfast.

"I know where you're going—Mom and Dad told me."

Mulder squinted at him. "How much did they tell you?"

"Everything, I think. You don't have to ask—I'll look after Dr Scully."

"Scully's going to be just fine," Mulder said more to himself than to Liam.

"How is she today?"

"Healthy enough to tell me where to go. She was up at the crack of dawn—not that you can tell when dawn is in this place."

"Are you sure it's—" Liam didn't want to say it.

"Cancer? I hope not." Again, Mulder seemed to be talking to himself more than Liam.

* * *

"I feel fine, Mulder. Really."

Liam found it hard to disagree. Her cheeks were a healthy pink in the sunshine. She had Mulder's backpack on—she had grabbed it from him and charged upstairs. There was no trace of the pinched look she got about her eyes.

She challenged those who filed through the door after her—Mulder, Mr Skinner, Gibson, her mother—to argue. As far as Liam knew she had not made any announcement about her (possible) condition. He doubted anyone other than his parents and the people standing with him knew.

No one mentioned her health again.

Their goodbyes were not drawn out. Mulder and Mr Skinner hoped to cross the rock range in time to rendezvous with a vehicle they'd arranged near Old Hachita.

Dr Scully and Liam watched Mulder and Skinner retreat into the desert mirage.

"Do you really feel okay?" Liam asked.

Her smile grew wide. "Not you, too. Actually—yes, I do feel fine. As well as I've felt in a long time."

She descended the stairs with pep, but Liam saw a puzzled look on her face when she reached the bottom and he caught her surreptitiously pinching her nose.


	28. Chapter 28

April 20, 2012  
New Mexico

Vibration was his first warning. Tiny shudders traveled up his pencil and Ellie had to slap her hands on her school bag to stop it quivering off the table in a red heap.

The revs of an engine echoed through the cavernous space of the hangar.

Liam had been chewing his pencil for the perfect sentence to end his essay when he heard it. A sound as foreign to him now as a blaring TV or a telephone ring.

Ellie perked up. "Is that—"

The hangar windows were too high to see out. Liam helped Ellie scramble onto a drum.

"Liam, get down from—"

Through a grimy glass pane Liam could see the source of the noise. "Mom, it's an RV."

A rusted, yellow camper had pulled up on the runway.

School had moved upstairs when the weather grew warmer. With more room they could be louder, and on the days when the wind wasn't scouring the desert with dust or lifting hair off scalps, they lived outdoors.

"Get down, Liam. We don't know who it—"

"It's Mulder!" He leapt off the drum.

Liam's dash outside ended in disappointment. The roller doors on the opposite hangar shut with a bang. Marie van de Kamp steered him back. "You can go look for Mulder when we finish."

Dragging his feet, Liam slunk back to his trestle table. There was no way his essay on frogs would find that missing word now. Jerry sat on a rock offering no inspiration but looking "zen"—as Allan Hirsh called it. Jerry looked zen most days. It appeared to be his favorite pose. Ellie said it—and his gold-flecked green skin—made him look like a lion.

Sal still went out on patrol, but she and Jerry lived in the classroom. Sal slept in a basket beneath Jerry's tank. Liam's mom said they kept everyone happy. She was more right than she knew.

Ellie plundered her bag for coloring pencils. "What do you think Mulder's got stashed in that camper?"

"I dunno—but I bet Major Drummond has a fit when he learns about it."

Ellie was doodling a cartoon frog on her pad. She gave it a gold crown, then looked up. "He's doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"I swear Jerry thinks he's king of the jungle—being waited on hand and foot. He's got it good for a frog."

Liam attacked a misspelled word on his paper with his eraser. "I suppose. It's a bit boring for him though. As much as he likes Sal—"

He got one of Ellie's condescending sniffs. "You're just making that up."

He wasn't, but couldn't be bothered arguing. "I think he gets lonely. He's probably looking forward to hibernating."

"You think he will?"

"It's possible. It should get cold enough up here."

"Why don't you keep him downstairs like last winter?"

Liam underlined the title of his essay with a vicious swipe. "Hibernating is a natural part of his life cycle. I never meant to keep him. I wanted to study him, then I was going to let him go."

Ellie put down her pencil. "So why didn't you?"

"I can't release him here. I need to take him home."

The arrival of the camper had ruined everyone's concentration. Eventually Liam's mother gave in. Marie rolled her eyes when she told them to put their books away and prepare for their afternoon run. They took off faster than a starter gun.

Unless there was a curfew (or it was too windy), they always finished their day with a jog around the camp buildings. They avoided going further afield where the vegetation was thicker and stood more chance of concealing snakes. Liam stopped for nothing. He pushed himself until his legs lost all their stretch. He never felt more alive than when he was running. He tore up the track and flew across the line scratched in the dirt.

Dr Scully, up in time for her afternoon drink with his mother, offered him a water bottle. "I have some news for you."

Liam grinned. "Mulder's back. We saw him."

His friend had been gone more than ten days.

Dr Scully's eyes were bright and dancing. If she was just pretending to be better, she was doing an excellent job. Liam had been committed to his promise and made a point of checking on her every day (earning an amused smile from Mrs Scully whenever he neared them).

But while Dr Scully appeared full of life, he couldn't bring himself to relax. A shadow was hiding in her; there was no telling when it would loom again. Nor was there any reasonable explanation for its disappearance. He'd heard Mrs Scully murmur about miracles; he didn't discount them, but this one made him uneasy.

Liam shook the worry of Dr Scully's health from his mind. "Did he get the nanobot thing?"

"Not without some adventure ..."

o0o

"I don't know what your secret is, Liam, but I haven't seen Scully looking so well in a long time. Think you can do anything with this?"

Liam appraised the white sling cradling Mulder's arm with mock solemnity. He had been too excited to eat. The beans on his plate were a soggy cold mess. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr Mulder, but I think we'll have to amputate."

Mulder shuddered. "That's what got me in trouble in the first place. I swear he was trying to take my arm off. If it hadn't been for Skinner and an 18-storey drop—" He paused, casting a thoughtful glance at Liam's mother.

"He might as well hear it from you," she said. "If he waits to catch the camp gossip, who knows what shape the truth will be in?"

Mulder held off until the long mess hall table was full. It would save him having to repeat himself. Word of his unusual arrival had gotten out. Everyone wanted to hear the story first hand.

"We managed to find my"—Mulder paused—"informant and we kept surveillance on her. When we felt she was safe to contact, we arranged a meeting. That went without a hitch. She passed on a coded message which led us to an unoccupied apartment in a high rise with a safe containing a device she said was a nanobot extractor.

"I don't think she set us up, but our precautions weren't good enough. They must have been watching the apartment—Skinner and I got there first, only to encounter a soldier on our way out."

Charlie gaped at Mulder. He wasn't the only one. "How did you escape?"

"With luck," Mulder said. "We backtracked but he jumped us on a balcony. Skinner managed to lever him over the rail. He tried to take my arm with him, but I guess he didn't want it as much as I did. That bought us enough time to get out of there."

Liam gulped down some of his mushy vegetables. "What about the camper?"

Mulder leaned in and winked. "All the secrets of the universe are in that thing, Liam—and an endless supply of these." He whisked a packet of sunflower seeds out of his pocket.

"That's all?"

"Disappointed?" Mulder made a face and shrugged. "Picked it up in Alabama. A friend thought we might appreciate some of the IT hardware in it. We made some arrangements so that it wouldn't be tracked here. We just need to keep it undercover."

"Did any more soldiers come after you?" Aaron asked.

Mulder gave him a grin. "What—one wasn't enough for you?"

Liam pondered the item Mulder had retrieved. He hadn't shown them the device, so they could only imagine what it looked like. "What exactly does the nanobot extractor extract nanobots from?"

"Not what. Who." Mulder's smile was pure satisfaction. "It's not just an extractor—it's a kind of all-in-one device. Once we work out how to use it, we'll be able to operate it remotely, and inject and extract nanobots as needed."

They wanted to fire questions at him, but Mulder didn't stick around. Dr Scully hadn't been at dinner so Liam assumed he left to find her. A stern look from his mother told Liam _he_ wouldn't be leaving until his plate was clean.

The scientists were keen to carry on the discussion about the nanobot device.

"I bet the bots can be reprogrammed—otherwise what use would it be to us?" Toby leaned so far over the table his glasses steamed up from the tea in front of him.

Shu's gaze went to the ceiling. It didn't yield any answers to Liam, but Shu seemed to see a lot in it. "How about attacking a supersoldier inside? Or maybe, it can give superpower strength?"

Alan arriving late set his tray down to join them. "Could two people injected with nanobots communicate telepathically?"

"Better yet—what if bots could be used to control atoms in inorganic matter? Or for psychokinesis—blowing things up with your mind." Toby blew his cheeks out and mimed an explosion with his hands.

Ideas flew around the group, each more ridiculous than the last.

Studying the extractor gave the young scientists new focus. With the vaccine close to production in pharmaceutical plants around the world, the sense of urgency in the underground laboratories had dropped off.

The scientists' shop talk broadened to include conversations about engineering and apps and coding.

A week before his birthday, Liam's mother received her own dose of the vaccine. As with Mrs Scully and his father, Liam kept an eye on his mother. And like them, she had no reaction. The vaccine appeared safe—but was it effective?

No one could say definitively. What else could they do but wait?

* * *

May 23, 2012  
New Mexico

When the lights went out after dinner, Liam knew what to expect. He ducked his head as everyone burst into the Happy Birthday song.

His mother put a tiny cupcake topped with chocolate frosting and a candle in front of him as his friends looked on.

She kissed his cheek. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart."

As a whole, the camp didn't make much of individual celebrations, but Mrs Scully produced a pair of bright woolen socks for him and Mrs Fawbert, who had returned from a supply run, dropped by with a special light bulb for Jerry's tank.

Even Gibson showed up. He stayed long enough to wish Liam a happy eleventh birthday, and he nodded at Mulder and Dr Scully who had given way to Liam's classmates. Liam might have slipped off his stool if he hadn't been wedged between Ellie and Charlie.

The room emptied as they chatted. For once his mother didn't hurry him off to finish his homework. School was nearly over for the year anyway.

When he returned a cup to the kitchen, he passed Mr Skinner hunched over his plate at a table. Dr Scully stood at his shoulder.

"Told you that meatloaf looked green," Mulder said from Mr Skinner's other side.

Dr Scully patted the bald man. "How long have you been feeling this way?"

Sweat beaded on Mr Skinner's head and he rubbed his right rib cage. "Pretty much as soon as they flicked that thing on. They said they got them all. Do you think it's gone wrong?"

"I hate saying this but we just have to wait and see."

On his way back from the kitchen Liam put a glass of water in front of Mr Skinner.

"Suzuki said they couldn't detect any—thank you, Liam." Mr Skinner drained the cup before turning to Dr Scully. "Blurgh. Did you see it? A test tube of gray sludge."

Keeping an ear on their conversation, Liam squeezed back into his seat.

"Sounds appealing," Dr Scully replied. "As bad as you feel, you're healthier now than when it was in you."

To finish the evening his parents suggested they take Sal for a walk. It was nice to spend time with them, but Liam sensed there was more to this than simple exercise.

They wandered along the runway, taking time to throw a stick for Sal into the cracked and flowering desert. Evening aromas scented the air—sweet and salty all at once.

Liam took a stab at guessing what they wanted to discuss. "Now that all you grownups have had the vaccine, will they start giving it to us next?"

His mother had some surprising news. "You kids might not get it now."

Liam tripped on a long gnarly root. "What? Why?"

"A couple of reasons," Harry said. "They still don't know what its long term effects could be."

"Also, there's no evidence of any supersoldier children," Marie said. "No one knows of any supersoldiers younger than their mid-twenties. Some of the scientists believe the optimal time to change is after certain developments in the brain—which don't happen until you're close enough to thirty."

Liam tried to work out what that could mean for him. He hadn't had any supersoldier dreams for weeks—well, not real ones. He had woken up shivering a few times, but that could have been for any reason. "Do they know this or are they guessing? What does Dr Scully say?"

Of course he had no way of knowing for sure, but the vaccine hadn't harmed him. Surely it would be better to take the chance that it _might_ work than do nothing?

Marie pulled her cardigan tight despite the evening warmth. "Liam, it's difficult for Dr Scully. The last thing she wants is to put you children in danger by exposing you to an unproven drug. They haven't ruled it out. They just don't know what to do."

"That's sh—stupid."

Harry van de Kamp tousled Liam's hair. "I'm sure in the handbook for raising kids it said you don't get to have strong opinions until you're at least twelve ..."

"Ha ha," Liam said sourly. He itched to say something. He _knew_ the vaccine was safe. Dr Scully knew it too, so why should she act worried? He tried to think through the implications of not giving it to his friends.

"What if they're wrong? Imagine if you had to fight an army of kid supersoldiers!"

Bullseye.

They moved on in silence. Liam knew both his parents were contemplating that unpleasant image.

"That brings us to something else," his mother said, changing the subject.

"What?"

"Have any of your friends talked about going home, Liam?"

His conversation with Ellie at New Year's sprang to mind. "Kind of. Ellie told me people might not have to stay here if the vaccine works."

He stared out across the desert. The sky was pinky-orange in the sunset, like an electrified painting. Sunsets here were different than home. Not in a bad way. Just different.

Marie took his hand. "You want to go home, don't you?"

"Of course," he said but with less conviction than his words might imply. "But we don't know for sure Dad is safe. Wouldn't it be easier just to wait here and see how things turn out?"

They were all thinking it. _How will things turn out?_

"We've heard some talk too—from other parents. I think if you do hear anything, it would pay to stay quiet. Not everyone's happy about the idea."

"You want me to lie if someone asks?"

His mother squeezed his hand. "I just don't think it's a wise topic to be discussing."

Her abrupt chuckle broke the levity.

"Care to share the joke?" Harry asked.

"Think of the paperwork we'll face … trying to explain."

His parents didn't mention leaving again but Liam understood what they had been trying to say. Their warning. He could guess who wasn't happy about people leaving.

They were back at the start of the runway, near the buildings. They weren't the only ones making the most of the longer evenings. Liam recognised the two people sitting on the low hill when they waved.

"C'mon, Sal, dinner time." Sal loped after him when he whistled, and he turned to his parents. "I'll be down soon."

Sal was popular with the night patrollers who often took her out with them for company. She usually had a nap before they collected her from the classroom. He made sure she had fresh water and dog biscuits and then he detoured on his way downstairs.

The couple hadn't moved from the hill.

Dr Scully had shiny eyes. In the weeks since Mulder's return she had never seemed anything less than a hundred percent healthy. "How's your birthday been?"

"Well … I didn't get my invite to wizard school."

Mulder cracked a sunflower seed. "Magic's overrated anyway."

"Is Mr Skinner okay?"

"He will be," Dr Scully said.

Liam toed a clump of grass. "Did he have nanobots?"

Dr Scully and Mulder looked at each other, the doctor putting a hand to her mouth to hide a sneaky smile. "Is no secret safe from you, Liam?"

"Sounds like a disease, doesn't it?" Mulder said. "Hey—we didn't get you a gift. I'm sure you've got one of these already, but one more for the collection can't hurt."

He dug about in a pocket, pulling out a small, thin object.

"Thanks."

"Genuine Democrat Hot Springs souvenir flashlight. Hang on to that … it'll be a collector's item one day."

Liam turned the flashlight on. For a small device it had a sharp beam. "What's Democratic Hot Springs?"

"Not what. Where. Small place in the middle of nowhere, famous for nothing. Stopped there on my way to pick up the RV."

Mr Skinner had recovered from his illness by the following morning. None of Liam's classmates remarked on it or seemed aware there had been a problem. They were taken with another topic.

Unlike the van de Kamps, who had fled their home, most of the scientists had made proper plans to join the camp. They hadn't been chased here. Cover stories had been laid months in advance.

"Mom and Dad are going to say they were on sabbatical in Arizona," Ellie told him when Liam asked. "Don't look so worried—they're not sure leaving is the right thing to do."

But not everyone shared their opinion, and some of Liam's friends seemed to think they'd be going home not long after school finished.

At least that's what they thought—until it became known that they might not get the vaccine.

o0o

Liam ambushed Dr Scully late the next day as she slipped between two workshop buildings. She always took this route when visiting the supersoldier. Liam often saw her when he was outside collecting dinner for Jerry.

Keeping a watchful eye on the far end of the alley, he flipped over wooden planks which usually had what he needed. He didn't have to wait long. As she headed his way, she walked into the golden sunshine of the afternoon, and her crisp white t-shirt and hair glowed.

He sprang up in front of her. "Is it true you're not giving the vaccine to anyone under twenty?"

"Not quite." She recovered from her shock to give him a puzzled look. "Some parents are worried. We can't force anyone to take it. If we knew for sure—"

She tried to sidestep him, but he moved in front of her.

" _I'm_ okay."

"I can't tell people that, Liam."

"But I'm proof the vaccine works."

As soon as he said it she whipped around to see who might be in earshot. They were alone, but she was wary and lowered her tone. "We only know it hasn't caused any immediate adverse reaction so far. I don't want to give people an unrealistic sense of security. I don't want them leaving here with a bulletproof mentality."

When she went to step around him a second time, he moved in beside her.

"How's your friend?"

Dr Scully didn't stop. But nor did she sugarcoat the truth. "Despondent."

Dr Scully believed the supersoldier was no longer a threat to the camp, but no one was willing to put that to the test. Especially since the supersoldier himself was unwilling to be moved from the pit. If Doggett _had_ told her who the commander was, she was still keeping it secret, and the camp had given up expecting him to give them an answer. Even Major Drummond had stopped badgering her. Now Doggett was just a problem no one seemed to know how to solve.

"What's going to happen to him? If everyone leaves, I mean?"

"What are you talking about?"

He had never spoken with Dr Scully about leaving. Had never heard her talking about it. When his parents had counseled him to be careful talking about it, did they mean her? He doubted it could have escaped their afternoon conversations. And yet ...

"We won't be here forever. One day we'll all get to leave."

Dr Scully shaded her eyes to look off into the distance. "We'll work something out when the time comes. John just needs to reconcile some things in himself."

"That he'll always be a supersoldier—no matter what?"

Her correction was swift. "That despite everything he's still the same man. I'll talk to you later, Liam."

With that, she let herself through an entrance.

As Liam had guessed, Major Drummond didn't think leaving was the right thing to do. He addressed the topic directly at the following Sunday service.

"The need for sacrifice and secrecy isn't over yet. We can't afford to be discovered here—there are still mysteries we are working to solve. We must not lose sight of that."

_If people want to go, he can't stop them, can he?_

_But what if he tried_?

The Major—so quick to marshal adults to test the vaccine—had become the strongest dissenter in the voices asking for it to be withheld from children.

_How can he go from one idea to the opposite so quickly?_

Despite Major Drummond's strong words on the subject, it seemed he was powerless to force people to stay. And the first the camp knew of it was sooner rather than later.

Liam's lunch went flying when the mess hall door swung into him and a scientist, arms akimbo, rushed in.

The man slid to a stop in front of the Major. Liam didn't hear what was said, but an hour later the news was out.

Charlie's parents had never made it to their lab that day.

They were gone.


	29. Chapter 29

July 2012  
New Mexico

Charlie's family was just the first.

A piece of paper crunched under Liam's foot several weeks later when he headed to the bathroom. It had been nudged under their door overnight.

"What's that?" his sharp-eyed mother asked.

Liam unfolded the torn notebook paper and gulped. "Nick's email address."

At breakfast Ellie waved him over to her table and patted a piece of paper tucked under her tray.

He felt a pit open in his stomach. "You got one too?"

She nodded. "No one's seen them today."

There was little point telling anyone. News traveled at light speed underground. They pocketed their messages in the places they kept their treasures. Online access was limited for the children. Liam didn't know when he'd be able to send Nick a message—or if Nick had sent one to him.

There was no outburst from the Major this time, but every clandestine departure made the camp that little bit darker. Like every time someone left, a lightbulb got busted. And they were running out of spares.

The defections achieved _one_ thing. Withholding the vaccine was an ineffective way of forcing people to stay. It was okayed for children.

Marie van de Vamp watched with other parents as Liam lined up with his friends. He didn't need his mother to hold his hand. It made it easier for Dr Scully to give him a fake injection. He could tell she wasn't happy doing it—her nostrils had flared—but at least now neither of them had to feel as guilty about it.

It was impossible for anyone (except Gibson) to know what anyone else was thinking about the vaccine, about life at the camp, or about leaving—but Gibson had reverted to his early hermit habits. He avoided venturing underground. Liam witnessed Major Drummond stomping away Gibson's hut one afternoon, a large scowl twisting his face.

No one knew what their fight was about, but they could all guess.

Liam struggled to understand the problem.

_It's like we made a prison for ourselves._

Only, some people were happy to stay in jail, while others couldn't wait to escape it.

His parents had never raised the topic of leaving again. Liam suspected they were deliberately keeping him in the dark.

On the other hand, they hadn't complained about still being here. His mother even pointed out the anniversary of their arrival with a smile and a special page in her scrapbook.

Summer days blended one dusty day into the next. Mostly the weather was hot and dry—until one afternoon an almighty crack popped the sky open like a peapod and a dollop of rain was dumped on them.

The rainy season had arrived.

Violent electrical forks raged across the horizon and laden supercells would unload water in gulps, instant streams pouring across the desert. More often than not, as soon as Liam had pulled a raincoat on, the storm would have vanished leaving nothing but dripping vegetation and a sharp, musty smell rising from the floor of the desert.

Liam learned not to trust a blue sky.

The rain revived the desert—and it woke a curiosity Liam hadn't felt for months. It was a whole new world out there and exploring it was a better way to spend his time than brood.

After rain the first thing to hit him was the smell—sweet, tangy air filled his lungs and made his blood tingle.

Dull greens exploded into emeralds. Carpets of tiny orange, white and purple flowers erupted on the desert floor. Mesquite trees with their chaotic branches put out second and third blooms.

Bees, dragonflies, and beetles worked the plants and gave the land a vibrant hum. Watching the desert spring to life was a welcome distraction from life grinding away in the camp.

Regular progress reports started arriving on the vaccine. The first batches were on their way to prearranged distribution centers. Sometimes the news was heartening. But often when the scientists emerged topside, the sun would beat down on glum faces.

"You can't force people to take the medicine, Liam," Toby said on such an afternoon. "In most places it's being marketed as a flu vaccine. Not everyone thinks they need it. Especially not now."

A day later Shu spotted some troubling news online. " _Explosion Destroys Pharmaceutical Factory in Suspected Terrorist Attack_. Phaizen. That's one of ours, isn't it?"

Three days later security at a factory in Europe was breached. No one was hurt and the plant had only minor damage but the attacks were worrying.

"Does that mean the aliens know about the vaccine?" Liam asked his father over dinner. That's what Aaron had told him.

"I don't know, Lee," his father said, "but it doesn't sound good."

When a third factory was hit, Major Drummond called an emergency meeting one afternoon.

It was the opportunity Liam wanted.

Ellie stopped him on the stairs as he headed up. "Aaron and I have found a great place to listen in. Don't you want to come?"

For once Liam had something better planned. He considered telling Ellie, but it could be useful having her report back on the meeting.

"Nah. I'm supposed to be taking Sal for a run." He made his excuse vague. He didn't want to tell her about his plan—yet.

As he'd hoped, few people were around outside. Despite a forecast for afternoon thunderstorms, the sky was wide and blue. Liam couldn't see a cloud anywhere—but the sharpness of the air said rain wasn't far away.

He had been through many of the unused buildings before. When he and Mulder went looking for a tank for Jerry a year ago, they'd combed much of the base. Liam had some idea what to expect. Pickings were slim—but every now and then, in unexpected places, you could find useful items. He was after something specific. Something he had seen before.

The base had four hangars. One housed a fleet of unused vehicles—the minivan they'd driven to Rudi's aid; other vehicles which at some stage must have been used to transport larger items into the camp.

The second hangar was their classroom. Jeremiah had snuck up on Liam there all those months ago before they went to reassemble Doggett.

The third and fourth hangars were the final sites on Liam's list of places to search. If he didn't find what he was looking for in either, then he doubted he would find it at all.

The third was the hangar where Mulder had parked his camper. A day after he'd returned, Shu had helped him remove some computing equipment, but after that, no one seemed to go near the vehicle.

He started with the fourth one since its roller door had been permanently jammed halfway open and so much dirt had blown in it was like the desert had moved indoors.

But despite its size and several smaller workshops off the main building, there was little to excite him. Liam kicked a pile of leaves in a corner.

The third hangar was more promising—it had an external metal staircase leading to a workshop door on the second floor.

No one was around to yell at him to come down, but the trip up was a waste of time since the door was locked. Liam was about to retreat when the ledge of a window caught his eye. He leaned over the iron railing to test it. He nearly whooped and slipped when the window slid up with ease. With another hasty look to make sure no one was around, he climbed over the rail and stretched. Feet dangling over the thirty foot drop, he hoisted himself into the building.

This room had probably once been an office. There was a desk along one wall. Scraps of paper, receipts by the look of it, filled one drawer, but the others were empty.

A cupboard revealed coveralls slung on a hook that disintegrated in a stream of dust when he pushed them aside.

The room led to a skeletal mezzanine floor which overlooked the main space of the hangar. The timber slats had been frugally laid. The gaps between each one were wide enough to poke a finger through. Yellow dashes underneath marked the camper. Liam tread gingerly across the planks to the far rail. Some of the boards groaned when he put weight on them.

Liam studied the main space. The metal walls were bare and windowless. The only light streamed in from clear panels in the ceiling. The small camper—an old rust bucket really—looked comical parked in the dead center of the space. A rowboat in a dry dock.

Checking it out seemed a waste of time. Foil-lined windows would thwart his attempts to peer inside. It wasn't totally sealed off. Two thick extension cords dropped from a crack in the driver's window and ran to a socket in the wall.

Not to worry. He doubted what he wanted was in the RV anyway.

Satisfied he wasn't going to crash through the floor and plummet to the hard concrete pad below, Liam checked out the shelving behind him.

Three wide shelves ran about six feet across. Cardboard boxes big enough for Liam to hide in were pushed two deep on the bottom and middle shelves. The lowest boxes looked fresh, but when they were shoved in, they scuffed a thick layer of matted dust.

He pulled one box out and found folded plastic sheeting.

If he wanted to check the furthest boxes, he'd have to climb onto the shelf just to reach them. Musty dust mushroomed in his face as he crawled in. He pushed aside several boxes and felt behind one which wasn't hard against the wall. His heart beat sped up. He touched something rough—and froze.

The click of a door sounded loud even up here.

He wiggled to the edge of the shelf, prepared to shout hello, but in a split second decided to stay still. If they asked him what he was doing here, he might have to explain. He didn't want to lie.

"I still don't know if I trust this thing being here."

Liam winced. That was Dr Scully. Her voice bounced off the metal walls. Easing over, he peered between the planks.

The flash of her hair was fire against charcoal gray concrete. From the set of her shoulders, her arms were crossed. "What's to stop it blowing this place sky high?"

A figure stepped out from behind her. "Mulder said it only did that last time because he thought you were going to destroy it. This time it—they—know we're on their side."

Gibson's dark head lifted in Liam's direction but his gaze passed over him. Gibson couldn't see through the mezzanine floor. Lying on the shelf, Liam was undetectable. "No one's around. It's safe to talk here. Mulder's on his way."

The assurance wasn't enough to stop Dr Scully testing the locks on the external doors or pressing her weight against the large roller doors. "If only everyone would realize we're all on the same side."

"No." Gibson leaned against a workbench. "We all want the same outcome—more or less. But it's obvious we don't all agree how to go about getting it."

Dr Scully moved back to him, wiping her hands. "We had no idea what we were creating when we made this place. Even my mother's questioning why we're still here."

"What have you told her?"

"The truth—as I see it. At least I feel like I'm doing something."

"If it makes you feel any better, Harry and Marie aren't thinking about leaving. Weirdly enough, they feel safe here."

The mention of his parents shocked Liam.

"They must be the only ones. I feel like target practice every time I walk outside."

"You did a good job winning them over, Scully."

"I'm burning through my miracle quota, Gibson."

"Who said they were miracles? You're usually the first person to argue for a rational explanation."

"I've gone over this so much I've run out of things to think. How did Jeremiah know? And if he knew, who else knew? But why wait to do anything? That's what I don't get. I don't care what he said. None of it makes sense."

"The Grays can't have known. You got them out just in time, remember?"

"But that doesn't fit either. If the Grays weren't worried, why all of a sudden send a platoon of supersoldiers after him—when they've known he was there all along?"

"I don't know what to tell you, Scully. I can't answer that question other than to say some circumstance must have changed. We may never know what. All we can do is be thankful things went our way."

His head swiveled. "Mulder's here."

Less than a second later a door slammed and Liam recognized Mulder's familiar voice. "There's no talking sense to that man."

Gibson removed his glasses, pulling up a corner of his shirt to rub the lenses. "He's not wrong in one sense. Anyone who leaves this place puts the rest of us at risk."

"Yeah, but does he have to be such an ass telling people that?"

Mulder joined Gibson and the doctor, each resting casually against workbench to face the camper.

"Short of barricading them in, we won't stop people leaving," Dr Scully said. "Better they leave with some sort of protection than not."

Their conversation stopped, and then the doctor snorted. "Since when did saving the world require an ethics committee?"

Gibson rounded on Mulder. "Speaking of ethics."

"Here we go."

"You've always known it would come to this, Mulder. It doesn't matter if the Grays know about the vaccine. We were never going to get adequate uptake in the time we had. We don't have any choice—we have to consider our other options."

"The Trojan plan." Mulder's distaste was audible.

"It's the best thing we've got, and you know it. Rudi is still keen."

"There's so much we don't know about the technology. And presuming he even got on board—what then?"

"Says the king of improvisation himself." Gibson didn't bother hiding his scorn. "Bet you didn't stop to ask yourself that question when you went to get Scully out of Antarctica."

Mulder ignored the jibe as he so often did whenever Gibson needled him. "You're going to put the idea to the group."

"You've known this would be the outcome ever since Marita contacted us."

"Then you didn't ask us here to discuss the plan. You'd already made your mind up. Why bother with the charade, Gibson?"

"We don't always agree, Mulder. But I've always respected you. And sometimes you surprise me … if anyone was going to come up with a real reason why we shouldn't try this, it was going to be you."

"But not today," Mulder said grimly.

Gibson nodded then moved to the door. "But not today."

Mulder and Dr Scully watched the door shut. The sound of Gibson's footsteps receded.

Her gaze unbroken, Dr Scully spoke. "What if we haven't done enough, Mulder?"

His arm went around her shoulder. "We'll get through this, Scully."

She eased away from him, stepping into the room. Like she was pulling loneliness around her. "There are so many questions. Questions I'm afraid to have answered."

"Some things I don't question, Scully."

"I had a nosebleed this morning. The first one in months."

Mulder pushed himself off the bench. "It could be nothing—"

"Before—when things seemed to be better—I almost thought Jeremiah had been back. In disguise."

"Gibson would have known. Is that the only thing you can think of?"

"The only thing? No. The hand of God, a wish-granting genie …"

He closed the distance between them with a single step. "Because _that_ worked out well last time."

She had her back to him. Mulder wouldn't have seen her smile. "Clyde Bruckman. Alfred Fellig."

That made him go still. "Those names."

"Not that they mean anything—not if it's back again." She wrapped herself in a hug. "How is it _we_ live so close to death? Sometimes when I'm lying awake, I start counting all the near-misses …"

"Sheesh, Scully. You ever stop to think _why_ you might be having trouble sleeping?"

Dr Scully stared ahead as if she never heard him. "What's it like, Mulder? Seeing the dead? Talking to them?"

" _You_ know," he said. "You've had a little experience of that yourself."

Shadow and light flowed over Dr Scully as cloud rolled over a skylight. The deep rumble of thunder warned of the approaching storm.

"My dad?"

"And your sister."

"Do we have trouble letting go?" she said wistfully.

"Since when have you fallen for popular therapies, Scully?"

"I never saw you."

"Hey?"

"After we buried you. That was all I wanted. I _wanted_ to see you. I saw you _before_ —after they took you. I was desperate to see you _after_."

He touched her. "But you didn't."

"I should have."

"Ah—but _I_ wasn't dead."

"But I _thought_ you were."

"And you think that means something?"

"I don't know what it means. Maybe we can't get death right."

"We're not overachieving, that's for sure."

She folded herself in his arms, her laughter muffled against his chest until she drew back. "Do you ever allow yourself the luxury of thinking—hoping—that maybe it does mean something?"

"That way lies madness, Scully."

Liam flinched at a click and the crackle of a speaker. He looked around wildly. The sound of a strum started pulsating through the chamber in a watery echo. It was coming from the camper. It had to be.

Dr Scully pulled a face. "Sea shanties, Mulder? Is dancing the—"

"Maybe Esther's telling us not to forget that there are other ways to cheat at death."

"She would know."

The music wasn't loud enough to drown them out, and they weren't really dancing—they were moving too slowly for that. Like gentle bobbing on tiny waves. Either way, Liam felt like an unwilling intruder.

Overhead, clouds kept up their skittering chase across the sky.

Dr Scully rested against Mulder. "Did you arrange this?"

"Maybe someone else knows how much you secretly like to dance?"

She let the music go on until the melody began to soften. "Gibson says they feel safe here, but what if they decide to leave?"

"They're sensible folk. We'll just talk to them."

"And tell them what?"

"Maybe the truth?"

"Mulder …"

"I followed you in this, Scully. Even though I hated how much it tore you up. I agreed with you—at first. But the longer this goes on, the harder we make it for ourselves."

"We just have to see it through to the end, Mulder. If we can get that far … that's all I need—"

"You need to know you put it right. We both need it."

The clatter of rain on the roof was instant. To Liam's relief the storm had arrived—and his friends took it as a sign to be on their way.

The music ended, leaving Liam more confused than ever.

* * *

Ellie found him sitting on the floor in their classroom next to Jerry's tank, Sal resting her head on his leg as he absently scratched behind her ears.

Her arrival interrupted his inner turmoil. Dr Scully was sick again; Gibson had a plan Mulder didn't like; Mulder had been buried once.

_What did I miss?_

It wasn't the first time Liam had heard of Mulder having a near-death experience … but to be buried? He hadn't just been nearly dead. He didn't just wake up from a coma in a hospital. He must _really_ have been dead.

Liam had vague memories of Mulder mentioning it. When Jeremiah arrived. Scully had found a way to beat the virus—that was what he had said.

As if that wasn't enough to take in, he now had some insight into Dr Scully's feelings about Jeremiah. She had doubts about his story. What was it she questioned? Maybe she didn't believe Jeremiah living next door to his parents was co-incidence. What did she believe he had been doing? Spying on them? Protecting them?

Ultimately that was why they were here—to protect Liam's dad. Protect him from becoming a supersoldier ... or something worse?

The answer—that his dad was the commander—was so obvious, Liam decided to ignore it. Nobody who met his father would believe it.

Whatever Mulder and Scully's secrets—and they had many—it was clear: they cared for his parents.

Looking up, he saw Ellie at the door.

"I can't believe you missed it," she said. "They don't know what to do about the factories. They're worried the date for colonization will be brought forward."

Liam shrugged. "There's not much they _can_ do. Not here. They've got something else planned, haven't they?"

She made her way to him and peered into Jerry's tank. "Gibson says they can get on a ship and infect it. Shu's worked out how to control the nanobots. Did you also know Gibson thinks there are more supersoldiers than ever not far from here?"

"We're still safe, though, aren't we?"

"No one can say. Gibson says they've been here for a year. He doesn't think they know we're here. Either this is the safest place in the world … or it isn't."

"That's a relief." He jumped up, earning a yelp from Sal. "You know what? Who cares? Nothing changes here. I know a better way to spend our time."

He took delight in pulling Ellie along to the third hangar, using a ground floor entrance this time.

"Wait here." Liam raced up to the mezzanine floor.

"Liam?"

"Look out below."

The rope uncoiled over the edge like a strand of spaghetti.

Ellie's jaw dropped and she picked up the bottom end. "It's perfect."

"Almost like fate."

It was the rope Jeremiah had carried to the pit. Liam had no idea how it ended up on the shelf. He didn't intend to question it. All they needed now was time.

They waited for a cloudy day when the heat wasn't so oppressive.

It wasn't too hot and there was no wind, but it was sticky when they slipped away after lunch. Liam could feel the sweat soaking his back where his straps dug in. He was carrying the rope, while Ellie had snacks and water. The rope was heavier than he expected.

As they passed the headless horseman, Liam remembered the first time they had come this way. "What do you reckon Charlie and Nick are doing?"

Ellie blew strands of hair off her blotchy cheeks. "Swimming. Eating ice cream. Not worrying about curfew. Nick's probably singing."

This time they had no problem finding the hole. It was still concealed, but Liam remembered several landmark bushes. Once again the cover was too hard to fully remove, but they managed to move it enough to create a narrow gap.

They anchored the rope around a creosote bush which had gnarly roots extending in every direction. When they pulled on it, the bush strained but stayed stubbornly in place.

"I'll go first to test it." Liam squeezed his eyes shut as he lowered himself and felt the rope go taut. Unlike the pit where Doggett was being kept, the shaft on this hole started smooth, but it wasn't straight. There was a slight incline which would make it easier to ascend.

"Liam?"

"Still here."

Gooseflesh popped on his skin as he got lower. What little sunlight filtered down did little to reveal anything beyond a rocky ledge. He sensed rather than saw the bottom. While the rope didn't quite reach, there were enough cracks and fissures to scramble down unaided.

"There's a small drop at the bottom. Maybe a few feet. I'm going to jump." The slant on the hole down meant he couldn't see Ellie. Only a weak stream of sunlight marked the exit.

Ellie sounded far away. "Okay."

He landed with a thud, thankful for the solid ground, and grabbed his flashlight. And found himself in a new world.

Light turned the shadows of needle thin stalactites into ferocious teeth hanging from the ceiling of a large cavern.

"You should see this! It's amazing." His voice echoed back on him.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he discovered he was on a natural path smoothed into the rock floor. The path went in two directions.

The first way came to an abrupt stop at the base of a column which rose all the way up. Though he could see space on the other side, he would never squeeze through the rocky spikes that surrounded it—not without destroying the delicate bars.

The opposite direction was more promising. A long time ago water must have worn a course into the rock. It wasn't straight—it meandered around rock formations both massive and small—and narrowed and widened at points.

A couple of times Liam found it easier to clamber over smooth rock mounds rising like islands in the path.

He checked his watch. He would give himself five minutes to explore. After that Ellie would complain.

When he looked closely at them, the rocks were a pale clay color. Some columns were lumpy, others pitted. One he passed made his heart jump—it was like thousands of tiny finger bones fluting from the ceiling.

Further along the rock changed colour in places. Around him the cavern had opened but he was confined to the path by thousands of stalagmites rising from the ground like archaic organ pipes.

He was ready to turn back when the beam of his flashlight landed on something unusual.

o0o

"We aren't the only ones to explore down there—I found this." Liam showed Ellie a dirty candy wrapper. The muddy imprint of a boot on it suggested it had been trampled into the ground in the cave.

"We knew that anyway. What else did you see?"

"It's amazing. You have to see it for yourself. I think there might even be ruins."

"No way."

"Well, maybe not ruins—more like carvings in a rock wall."

Ellie sipped water from her bottle. "Like ancient carvings? Maybe it was an ancient burial site?"

For all her bravado, she was cautious climbing into the hole. She hugged the side before Liam convinced her to push herself out and brace herself against it for more control.

When he heard a thud, he guessed she'd reached the bottom.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." Her voice bouncing off the rock sounded close.

After several minutes he heard her call. "I found it."

He leaned into the hole. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. They seem smooth—like they're old. Yuck!"

"What?"

"It's wet down here. Something dripped on me."

"At least it's cool …"

Her scream rent the tunnel, then she went silent.

The mouth of the hole was dark and mute. "Ellie? Ellie!"

Liam grabbed the rope and took a flying leap over the edge. "Hold on."

His palms burned as he slid and shimmied down the rock wall. He let go well before the bottom, landing in a jarring heap. He vaulted the larger boulders, stubbing his toes as he dashed up the path. He could make out a glow up the tunnel.

Liam slowed when Ellie—and her long ponytail—came into sight. She stretched, pressed against the rock, running her hands over the carved lines.

He didn't keep the accusatory tone from his voice. "You're alright."

She couldn't have missed the noise of his panicked charge. She bit her lip when she turned his way. "Sorry."

"You could have told me."

"This goo dripped on me." She wiped her forehead, extending her hand which was coated in a greasy, transparent fluid. "I think it came off the rock. It must have been dripping for a bit. There's a pool of it."

The beam from her flashlight reflected off the puddle she was standing in.

" _That_ made you scream?"

"Sort of." She ducked her head. "Don't laugh. I thought slugs were falling on me. Like they dropped on my head and started crawling down."

Liam had to swallow his smirk. "Slugs?"

"Liam—" Ellie stamped her foot, splashing them both. They watched as blobs rolled down their legs. "They look like they're—"

Liam bent closer. What trick of nature was he seeing? "Alive."

He stuck a finger in the middle of one on his ankle. A black donut formed around his fingertip. When he pulled back, the slug reformed and rolled off.

"Weird. It's like my finger was a magnet repelling it."

His legs felt coated in a sticky residue and when he ran his fingers over them, the same oily substance Ellie had wiped off her head came away.

He crouched to study the puddle. "Look. It's seeping into the rock."

A minute later the black pool had drained away. Only a faint watermark was left on the porous rock.

"What do you think it is?"

He was stumped. "I don't know. Aren't caves formed by underground streams and lakes?"

"It came from about there—where that squiggly carving is." Ellie pointed about halfway up the face.

Liam was just tall enough to run his hand over the squiggly spiral groove. "I can't feel anything. There's no crack where it could have come from."

"I know what I saw, Liam."

"I'm not doubting you." He studied the rock. It formed part of the wall which jutted out as it went up. The carvings—curves and circles mainly—ran in a band across the rock face above them and were too perfect to be natural. It could have been a trick of light but a slimy trail traveling down the rock seemed to be drying before his eyes. "Maybe it dripped from higher up—like from that fissure."

Ellie shone her flashlight at the hairline crack. "I guess."

With nothing further to go on, the mystery of the black puddle stayed that—a mystery. They ventured deeper into the tunnel, but after no more than six feet they rounded a sharp corner and hit another dead end.

They found no more traces of human activity—ancient or recent—and there seemed little point staying any longer.

Liam hauled himself out of the hole with a dissatisfied heave, then pulled on the rope to give Ellie a hand on her way up. When she scrambled over the edge, they sprawled at a safe distance, chests heaving.

Ellie sat up first. "Do you think someone from camp was down there?"

"Would almost have to be," Liam said, pulling on his cap in a futile effort to escape the heat. "They keep an eye out for hikers, and there haven't been many."

"What do you think that slime was?"

Liam wished he had an answer. "Maybe Dr Scully or one of the scientists can tell us."

Ellie glared at him. "Are you mad? No way. I'm not telling anyone where we've been. They'll never let us get after if we do."

He supposed she was right.


	30. Chapter 30

September 8, 2012  
New Mexico  
11:57pm

The buzzer blared at him, its metallic shriek amplifying off the cubicle walls.

"Time's up!" Aaron Paskowitz banged on the door.

Liam rolled his eyes. The hot water running over his head had been hypnotic.

They had played outside all afternoon and as a rare treat had been allowed to stay up late watching movies on an abandoned laptop. Soap suds still foamed around Liam's feet. The bubbles spiraled the grate, an image that tickled his memory.

A burst of clarity hit him so intensely it drowned out the woeful squawk, squawk, squawk of the alarm.

He gasped and wobbled on his feet.

_It could be there!_

Liam slapped the old clock and attacked his skin with his towel. He missed a few spots and his t-shirt stuck to his back when he put it on. He was in too much of a hurry to care.

"All yours," he said, passing Aaron.

Thinking quickly, he took his pullover and the Democrat Springs flashlight from Mulder out of his gym bag. He stuffed the bag in a bathroom cubbyhole and the flashlight in a pocket. What he was planning wouldn't take long.

Since their adventure down the hole, Liam and Ellie had speculated on the strange lines on the cavern wall.

They hadn't told anyone about their trip, but Liam suspected the grownups had already discovered the hole and covered it a year ago. They probably found it when they were searching for Rudi's object.

The tickle in his mind had started when they trudged back to the camp more than two weeks before.

The rope was heavy, and he and Ellie had shared its weight, slinging it over both their shoulders. As they walked, Liam had sifted through memories of the adventure, bothered by a thought he hadn't been able to pin until this moment—as he watched the water circle the drain.

A powerful need to know _now_ filled him, overriding his initial plan to wait until morning. Fewer people would be around to question him at midnight.

He scooted along the corridor on bare feet.

The darkness of the passageway leading to the war room was like a protecting cloak. The lights weren't on. No one was down here. When he reached his destination, inky silence leached under the door.

He wasn't surprised to find the room locked. Jiggling the door handle was fruitless. He wished he knew Jeremiah's trick as he shook the handle.

He was about to slink off back to bed when he remembered his home in Wyoming. They always kept a spare key under a pot plant near the verandah.

He swept the door lintel and struck brass. He caught the key as it tumbled off the ledge.

Liam didn't waste any time. He slipped into the room and went to the posters on the walls. His flashlight lit up the pink Xs on the map. He studied it again—there were more marks on it but it wasn't what he was looking for.

While there were plenty of papers scattered around the room and stuck to the wall, nothing matched the squiggly spiral shape (or symbol) he'd seen in the cave.

He backed out of the room and replaced the key, swallowing his disappointment. It had been so perfect. He had seen the spiral tn the cave somewhere else—he just hadn't realised it.

Everything seemed to click into place when he remembered the war room and its posters and maps and diagrams.

Liam retraced his steps to the bathroom. All the cubicles were empty. Aaron must have been quick.

Water rattled through the pipes. Liam splashed his face at the sink before shutting off the tap.

A slow, rhythmic drip splattered into the sink—the only thing stirring in the midnight silence.

If not the war room, where else? Their classroom? The mess hall? Dr Scully's office? Those were places he had been since their adventure. He crossed them off his list. He would have seen the symbol by now.

Drops of water trailed down the sink, mesmerizing him again. He only lifted his head when the unmistakable sound of boots marching hit the corridor.

Liam stood in the doorway as men in dark clothing filed past: Rudi, Cooper, Mr Skinner, Shu, and last, Gibson with his stooped walk.

Gibson caught sight of him and waved the others on. "What are you doing up?"

"Taking a leak. What are _you_ doing?"

"Night patrol."

"Bullshit."

Gibson regarded him with hooded eyes which did nothing to mask his amusement. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"

"Are you trying to get on a spaceship?"

Gibson only snorted. "Goodnight, Liam. Sweet dreams."

The truth struck as Gibson retreated around a corner.

Liam ran to catch up, calling from the bottom of the stairwell as they climbed. "Good luck ..."

* * *

October 8, 2012  
New Mexico  
11:28am

For a month the Trojan team kept up their nightly ritual. And for a month they showed up downcast in the mess hall the following day.

No one said anything. They didn't have to. They shared a dejected slump in their shoulders that said it all. The plan—whatever it was—had failed to fire.

Liam spotted his first clue the day after the group's first mission. They all turned up for lunch.

He hung around their table hoping for a direct answer from Gibson, but the dark stare he got from that quarter told him not to broach the topic.

After two weeks—and an increasingly common outbursts from Gibson—he realised the problem: nothing had happened.

Their plan to get on board a ship must have come to nothing. The Grays weren't interested in the Trojan horse gift.

"Shit. They probably wrote the myth," Toby said one day when the group finally admitted there was little sense continuing.

Gibson smacked his fist on the table. "They're there. Soldiers have been coming in and out of that border territory for more than a year. It's a staging point—it has to be. There's a ship out there—I can _feel_ it."

Nobody argued with him.

"What's a staging point?"

The silence around the table was grim. Liam had asked one of those questions again.

Gibson sighed. "How much do you know about the plans for colonization?"

"Some of it," Liam said.

"Once upon a time a group of humans made a deal with the Grays. The conspirators knew what the Grays planned, but they helped them in exchange for knowledge."

"Because they planned to develop a vaccine to save themselves?"

Gibson nodded. "The virus would break out and a state of emergency would be declared on or around a national holiday. A shadow agency run by the conspirators would take over the Government.

"Those people affected by the virus would be unconsciously drawn to staging points—that's where the aliens would collect them. One of those staging posts is over the hills to the south of us."

Liam let Gibson's explanation wash over him; he was suddenly aware of only one thing. Tick, tick, tick. Hands that would never run backwards. Liam found himself staring at the face of the clock over the swinging doors to the kitchen.

The pattern. He'd just discovered it. On the clock face. It wasn't exactly the same—the pattern on the clock was sharper. More modern. But still the same basic shape—a squiggly spiral.

Hands going only one way around. Like the water going down the sink. Time goes only one way.

And it was running out.

Slowly—the same way Dr Scully's sickness had snuck up on them—clouds were building up over the camp.

No one smiled any more. Every few days more people left the camp under the cover of night.

The Trojan plan's strongest supporters toughed it out into November before they too capitulated.

"We were close," Gibson said to Mulder one evening. "Close enough to get high off the exhaust fumes. It didn't want us. Any of us."

Rudi shook his head. "I prayed my whole life for them to leave me alone. I feel rejected."

* * *

November 11, 2012  
New Mexico  
11: 59am

Rudi made no secret of his approach to Dr Scully after one Sunday service. He let himself into the hangar where they had gone to escape a sharp wind and stood to one side, arms behind his back, waiting for the service to end. Dr Scully was wrapping her scarf around her neck when he spoke. "There's no sense pretending over this. It won't work. Either they know or they don't care. We give it one more go tonight and if that doesn't work we take them out tomorrow."

Dr Scully cinched her jacket before rubbing her temple. "Come see me in the afternoon."

While their mothers talked, Liam and Ellie watched him stalk away.

The following afternoon Mrs Fawbert popped into their classroom. After a quick word with Mrs Scully, the doctor's mother swept up her sweater and left the classroom.

Liam bided his time, but when Mrs Fawbert sat next to him, he didn't hold back. "I sure hope Mrs Scully is okay."

"I'm sure she's fine," Mrs Fawbert said. "Is there anyway to magnify the screen, Liam? I really can't read it without my glasses."

They were writing up details on famous monuments which they were researching online. The time on the computer screen said there was still an hour of class to go.

"Why don't I go get them?"

"Would you? I've probably left them on my night stand."

Mrs Fawbert's quarters were on the same corridor as his. He raced downstairs and nearly careened into Mrs Scully carrying a glass of water and a water bottle.

At the last second he dodged her. "Sorry, Mrs Scully."

He stopped by Mrs Fawbert's door which was ajar, watching Mrs Scully as she knocked on Dr Scully's room.

"See that you get back to class quick smart, young man."

The glasses were where they were supposed to be and Liam was in and out in a flash. He paused in the hall. Mrs Scully had gone into Dr Scully's room.

It could mean nothing.

Liam gripped the glasses case to his chest. He knew what to look for this time and Dr Scully hadn't been able to hide the flares of agony which crossed her face more and more often.

Mrs Fawbert smiled when he returned and turned to the computer screen. "Let's see what all the fuss is about."

He handed her the case and her key. "I locked the door after I left. Hope you don't mind."

She gave him a bemused glance. "Not at all."

Whatever ailed Dr Scully had passed by the next morning—although Liam knew her recovery was temporary. While she was on her feet and talking about the work they were going to do studying the nanobots, those dark circles around her eyes told another story.

There was still the chance she'd recover the same way she had earlier in the year, but Liam knew it was a dangerous hope. Liam caught her staring at a calendar one day—one he had made her for Christmas—and he was struck by the ominous promise of time running out.

Dr Scully had said it herself. How many miracles could one person expect?

So she embarked on a feverish study of the nanobots with Shu.

* * *

November 21, 2012  
New Mexico  
4:35pm

Clocks and calendars weren't the only way to tell the time.

The desert faded as the intensity of summer heat and fall warmth waned. Color was less obvious than ticking hands, but as the eyes of tiny wildflowers closed and even the sagebrush scrub huddled together for comfort, it was another measure of time.

Waiting is awful.

Not only was it awful. It stole emotion. It was like they had all forgotten what they cared about.

Maybe being here wasn't doing them any good?

Liam trudged through the days until, one day, the tedium was broken by something unexpected.

Class was over for the day, and Liam and Ellie were cleaning Jerry's tank. They had him in a small container while they emptied, scrubbed and filled the glass tank. He didn't move much, content to stay in the container.

"Is this normal?" Ellie asked for the fifth time.

"I think he's preparing to sleep. He isn't eating as much these days and he's hardly moved in days."

"He's not sick?"

"Not that he knows. I'll put his tank over there—that corner's always cold—he can hibernate uninterrupted."

They looked up when Ellie's mother entered.

"There you are, Ellie," Mrs Pachowitz said. "Do you mind running on while I have a word with Mrs van de Kamp?"

They were being dismissed.

"What's that about?" Liam asked as they hastily settled Jerry on a rock.

Ellie smirked. "Probably Aaron. He's always getting trouble."

But it wasn't Aaron.

That evening in the sanctuary of their quarters, Marie van de Kamp turned over the homework she was marking. She didn't raise her head when she spoke. "We've been asked if we would like help leaving."

Harry van de Kamp put down his crossword. "Why would we need help leaving? Why now?"

Marie lay her hands on the homework. "We've held out so long."

"Exactly."

"But it's hard not to feel afraid when you know what's just over the hills."

"What's changed since we decided to stay? Why the need for help?"

"Apparently that's how everyone's been doing it. Elaine Paskowitz thought we might have changed our minds. Nobody wants to put the camp in jeopardy. Each departure has been carefully timed."

"Who's doing that?"

"Elaine didn't say. She just said they're weighing up if it's time to go. They're not going home—not yet—they would stay with a friend in Montana until—until next year. She asked if we wanted to join them."

"They were pretty adamant about sticking it out a few months ago. What's changed?"

"If Gibson Praise is right, then there are now more soldiers in the area than ever. I think people are asking why."

Harry scratched his chin. "Say we did leave. Where would we go? We go home, that's going to raise questions."

Liam couldn't contain himself. "What about our friends here?"

Dr Scully wouldn't be traveling anytime soon and Mrs Scully wouldn't go without her daughter. Liam wondered about the other people they knew. Mrs Fawbert was a friend of Mr Skinner. They weren't scientists—was there any reason for them to still be here?

The pull to leave was powerful—but the pull from Dr Scully and their scientist friends was too strong.

Liam's mother picked up her pile of homework and neatened the edges. "It's less than a month. They've protected us this far. My heart tells me not to go."

* * *

November 21, 2012  
New Mexico  
10:39pm

Liam knew he wasn't supposed to talk about leaving.

It was late in the evening, but when he said he was going to check on Sal and Jerry, neither of his parents questioned him.

He was staring into Jerry's tank when Ellie slipped in beside him.

Liam put his hand up to the glass. "I keep wondering what would happen to him if we all disappeared."

Ellie slipped her hand into his. "That's not going to happen."

"I don't think it will either. But if it did—I'd let him go if I could."

"What about Sal?"

"Sal's different. Sal can take care of herself." He reached out for the container. "Mom says you might be going to Montana."

"I know. Crazy, isn't it?"

He went on as if he hadn't heard her. "He's resting now. Will be for the rest of winter. Montana is close enough. He should have the chance to go home. Better than here. You'd just have to scoop him up like this … if you had to let him go—for any reason—he'd like a pond where there was plenty of water and insects."

" _If_ I had to let him go, some place swampy is best?"

Liam nodded. "That would work."

Ellie knew what he was asking. " _If_ I let him go."

"In an emergency. If you weren't able to take care of him any more ..."

"Otherwise I'll just keep looking after him, right? Until you can take him back?"

"That would work."

She squeezed his hand. "It won't be for very long. It'll all be over in a few weeks."


	31. Chapter 31

December 16, 2012  
New Mexico

A single knock punctured the morning quiet.

Liam didn't bother with shoes. He scrambled off his bed just as slippered feet pattered across the floor. After three aborted attempts, Ellie's family had planned to leave very early in the morning. Thoughts of his friend kept him awake all night. Was someone here to tell them it had gone wrong? Or to check the van de Kamps were still there?

His mother beat him to the door. She leaned into the hall. "There's no one—what's this?"

She stooped then rose with a brown folder in her hands.

Liam's father appeared, knotting his bathrobe. He rubbed his eyes. "Marie?"

"This was outside."

"What is it?"

Marie's brows came together as she smoothed a curling pink Post-it on it. " _Read everything. Classroom hangar ASAP_."

She flipped the cover of the folder. "I don't understand—it's Liam's medical records."

_My records?_

Liam stiffened. His fluttering heart was preparing to take off.

"The latest entries." His mother ran her finger down a page. "Notes from February about a placebo. Someone has recorded details—Liam's weight, his height, his blood pressure, his temperature. There's another note on the third of July for a placebo."

"July 3? That's the day he had the shot, right?"

"This must be Dana's writing. She must have made notes when she did the vaccines. Why mark the vaccine as a placebo? Twice?"

Liam felt their eyes on him.

When had the world become so spongy? His legs turned to straws of jello. Words stuck in his mouth. "Pretend medicine?" was all he could manage.

His mother wasn't smiling. "Liam?"

He had to put his arms out for balance. "She lied to me."

_I never got the vaccine. I could still be a supersoldier._

A bell was ringing in the hollow space in his head. He jabbed fingers into ears to stop it. Chill rose from cold linoleum, seeping into his feet and freezing him to the floor.

Marie handed the folder to Harry. She reached out to Liam but stopped short of touching him. "Do you know anything about this? Did Dr Scully give you an injection in February, Liam?"

Heat radiated from her, burning his cheeks.

"Liam, are you okay?"

He read the upset in her eyes.

Once upon a time she would have bundled Liam into her arms. A hug and reassuring hands used to be the cure for all ailments.

_Why won't she hug me now?_

"I'm okay." He barely heard his own whisper. "I asked her. I wanted the vaccine so I wouldn't become a supersoldier. I was going to tell you ..."

"And in July?"

He forced himself to look at her—wishing she could read _his_ eyes.

"I asked her to give me something so you wouldn't get suspicious. I don't know why she didn't give me the real injection then."

Marie straightened. "This is absurd. I want to know what Dana was playing at."

_I should tell her not to be too angry with Dr Scully—that she was only trying to reassure me._

But he couldn't make his mouth open; the doctor had betrayed him and it stung.

_She wasn't trying to help me at all._

Bumps flared on his arms when his mother moved away. She disappeared into her room and returned seconds later pulling a sweater down over her hips. She put her hand out for the folder.

Harry hadn't moved. "Where are you going?"

"Where else?" Marie said. "At this time of the day she'll be in her lab. I want answers."

The door gaped at her swift exit.

Liam shuffled his feet, unsure what to do.

"Are you okay, son?"

Liam tested his balance with a step. The coldness was dissipating. "Yes, sir."

His father sat and pulled the other chair out from the table, gently patting it. "Is there some special reason why you were worried about becoming a supersoldier?"

Liam eased himself down and studied the speckles in the table top pattern. "Yes."

He looked up in time to see pain on his father's face.

"When you feel you can tell me, I'd love to hear it one day."

Remorse shot through Liam's heart. He had hurt his parents. "Dr Scully wanted me to discuss it with you. She was worried about me."

_I_ thought _she was worried about me._

Angry as he was, Liam knew the doctor deserved his defense. "Please don't be mad with her."

"Dr Scully was irresponsible—even if her heart was in the right place, Liam."

"I'm sorry, Dad. I don't want her to get in any trouble." That was the truth. If his mother burst in on Dr Scully without the full story, it wouldn't be fair. He knew what he had to do.

"I have to tell Mom."

-o0o-

Liam was almost at Dr Scully's office before he caught up with his mother. She was peeking around a corner.

At the sound of his approach, she put a finger to her lips.

Liam tiptoed to her. Her arms snaked around him, but she couldn't stop him sneaking his own look.

Three men were receding into the dim corridor. They came to a halt and the man in front rapped on the wall. His guards followed him into Dr Scully's office.

"Dr Scully?" Major Drummond's voice boomed.

Liam felt his mother push him along. They crept down the hall on light feet.

"How long have you known the commander's identity?"

Liam heard his mother's sharp gasp. They froze just short of the office.

"You've been keeping secrets. What else do you know? The location of Rudi's artefact? Your silence is nothing short of betrayal."

The doctor's reply was cross. "This is nonsense."

"We put our faith in you—you could have done anything. The vaccine!" The implications of Major Drummond's accusation grew more apparent. "You could have sabotaged the vaccine."

"Why on earth would I sabotage the vaccine?"

Liam shivered at the iciness in the doctor's voice.

"This whole time I've never questioned you. No one would."

Marie braced herself against the wall, furiously thumbing through the open folder.

"Read everything," she muttered, scanning pages one by one. "This doesn't make sense."

"What?" Liam whispered.

"Everything's here"—she turned another sheet—" _everything_ is here."

She shut the folder, then squinted and scratched at the label on the file tab.

Liam inched closer to the door, daring himself to look in the room. The men filled the space. It was impossible to see the doctor.

"You're the traitor, Dr Scully—you have to be. You've known for months who the commander is. You've been protecting him—putting everything at risk."

The doctor dialed her anger to cold fury. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't think I don't know. William, Dana! Who is William?"

The solid world in front of Liam disestablished itself as it slid out of focus. He heard voices in the distance.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Dana Scully, I am detaining you, pending inquiry into your actions."

Fingers curled around his wrist, applying pressure and pulling him away. "We have to go," a voice whispered. Liam stumbled down the unfocused path in front of him.

When they rounded the corner, his mother broke into a jog. "Quickly, Lee."

"Mom"—he could hear his own voice but had no idea where the words came from—"shouldn't we go back and help her?"

"We can't help her."

His mother's pace didn't lessen until they'd climbed the stairs and burst through fire doors which went to the living quarters section. Even then they fast walked down the corridor.

Marie bundled Liam inside and sagged against their door.

"Honey?" Harry van de Kamp was fitting supplies into his patrol pack.

"We can't stay here, Harry. Liam, put your walking shoes on."

Liam's dad stopped in confusion. "We're leaving?"

Marie called out from their bedroom. "They were right—we aren't safe here."

"What's going on? What did Dana say?"

"I didn't get the chance to speak to Dana. Drummond just arrested her. He says she knows who the commander is."

A metal locker screeched and clothes flew across the door frame.

"Holy—who?"

"Does it matter? He's gone insane. If he thinks she knows who the commander is, he'll harry it out of her like a rabid terrier."

"There's got to be more to it than that. Did she do something else to Liam?"

"We're not going to let her have the chance. Can you go fill some water bottles?"

"Can't Li–"

"No!" Marie reappeared. "I don't want him out there. Do it now, please."

Liam hung about not knowing what to do. She clapped her hands. "Quickly, Liam. Only what you need."

Her urgency drove Liam into befuddled action. He grabbed his backpack from the foot of his bed and dumped it by his locker. The weather was cool, but true winter hadn't hit the desert yet. He tore a sweater off a peg and rolled it into a ball.

What was he supposed to take? When would they be coming back?

_Will we be coming back?_

"Why are we leaving, Mom? What about Mulder and Mrs Scully?"

Her bag lay at her feet in the middle of the room. She gripped the side of her head as she stared at it. "I don't know what we're doing, Liam."

He grabbed his flashlight. There was no way he could fit everything in—his catcher's mitt and ball, the book collection he'd started, stacks of school work which had built up over the year. He circled his room, working hard to memorise everything. He was about to lose all his things all over again. How could they be doing this for a second time?

His gaze fell on the tabletop where the aquarium had once been. Did Ellie get out with Jerry at midnight?

Liam's dad returned with the water bottles. Marie gave them just time enough to pack them before hurrying them out.

Stepping into the hall was like landing in unknown territory. As though Liam no longer recognised the halls he had roamed for more than a year. Door frames swam in and out of focus as they proceeded.

_Dr Scully lied to me. Why?_

It was impossible to avoid people, but the van de Kamps' packs weren't laden enough to draw suspicion and his parents gave everyone they passed friendly greetings.

Climbing the stairs Liam's legs felt weighted. They were going the way he headed every week day for school. Once, he looked up and saw his parents with their heads close. They were talking but he couldn't hear what they were saying.

His mother ushered him through to the classroom hangar. It looked empty at first until a voice made Liam jump.

"I knew you'd see sense." Gibson jumped off the drum he'd been sitting on next to Jerry's tank. He reached down to scruff Sal who had been sitting at his feet.

Liam's heart pounded for escape against his ribcage.

Gibson tapped his head. "My special ability."

Liam's gaze fell on the bag and hat at Gibson's side.

Marie took a hesitant step into the room. "Did you leave the folder under our door?"

Gibson gave nothing away. "They've decided Scully is a traitor. It won't be long before they point the finger at me—and I've got more important things to do than answer to Sergeant Santa."

"Then you know what's happened?"

"Of course I know what's happened."

"So Dana is a traitor?"

He sneered. "Do you believe that?"

"I don't _want_ to believe it!"

Sal padded to Liam and nudged his legs. She was telling him to move. A quick glance at the tank filled Liam with hope. And sadness. The small container was gone.

"They won't hurt Scully. They just need a day or two to cool and think things over. In the meantime I have a special delivery to make."

He directed them to an exit.

Marie fell in behind him. "Are they right about Dana, Gibson?"

He scratched his chin. "They're looking at it wrong."

"What do you …?"

"You're a mother. You work it out."

"Either Dana fudged Liam's records or she didn't give him the vaccine. Why? Did _any_ children get the vaccine?"

Harry put his hand on Marie's arm. "Shouldn't we be asking Dana that?"

Gibson hoisted his pack. "You can stick around if you want. But what if you don't like the answers?"

Marie reached for Harry's hand. "Please. Not here."

The tang of winter air hit Liam's face. It was a bright clear desert day, yet Liam felt he was stepping into pea soup.

_She lied to me._

His thoughts stumbled down endless dead ends, eternally returning him to a fogged crossroad and no clue to escape. His eyes were open but all he saw was his left foot advance on his right and his right foot overtake his left. Over and over.

_Why would she lie to me?_ How _could she lie to me?_

His parents couldn't leave fast enough. It proved easier than expected.

Weaving topside between buildings, Liam kept stealing looks over his shoulder. He was still awash with the shock of Dr Scully's arrest. If they were caught leaving, would they be next?

Liam readied himself to run, but a mad dash never eventuated. They just started walking. No one stopped them. They were at the second fence within half an hour.

When he finally put his head up, the fence reared up. _I can't climb this._ It took a second to register Gibson holding up a lip of wire mesh and his parents crouching to go under it.

Talk was at a minimum and his parents cast fearful glances back in the direction of the camp. The buildings had long since been swallowed up by the muted grays and browns of a dormant desert.

When a crick developed in his neck, Liam told himself to stop it. The strong feelings of the morning were subsiding. Every step was taking them further into the desert until the last perimeter fence was a faint scar on the land.

The earth began to rise as they walked off the plateau and up a sweeping pass between two craggy peaks.

At the top of the ridge the vista stretched out, layered in washed out purples and blues. The decline on the other side was steeper. The rocky scree crumbled under their feet.

"Keep walking that way and you'll reach Mexico in no time," Gibson said. "You'll also walk straight into a hive of supersoldiers."

"Is it safe to come this way?" Liam's mother squinted to the south.

"We can cut back onto another track which will take us west. It meets up with a popular hiking track."

The walk wasn't strenuous but it was relentless, and sweat coated Liam's back. Sunshine beat down on them through a cloudless sky. As they descended the air warmed, and Liam stopped to hitch his sweater around his waist. A water bottle was thrust into his hand and he drank. His thoughts were bleak.

_I could still be a supersoldier._

Gibson jammed a cap back on his bottle, jarring Liam back to the physical world. "I think you should have left months ago—why did you stay?"

Liam's mother swept a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Security, safety. An inexplicable sense this was where we were supposed to be."

"Loyalty?"

"I suppose."

"I'm not saying that loyalty was misguided ..."

"But?"

"Scully and Mulder should have encouraged you to go when everyone else was clearing out. The supersoldiers may not know we're here but their numbers are still growing. And it looks like a staging has begun."

"A staging?"

"Carloads of people from all over are heading to a hill to the south. I doubt they even know why. That's where I'm going. Someone's got to give them the vaccine before they get taken."

Harry gave the hills a cursory glance. "Dana didn't give Liam the vaccine when she had the opportunity—why?"

Gibson countered with a question. " _You_ were reluctant at first to let him have it, weren't you? Personally I'd hate to be a supersoldier. Especially if I was a kid."

"What about the other kids? What about the kids receiving the shot now around the world. If she had any doubts about its safety, why didn't she stop it being given to the children?"

His father's questions weighed on him—Gibson was suggesting Dr Scully faked the shot because she was concerned for him. How could this be the same person who could give the vaccine to her own mother?

_It doesn't make sense._

But that left him on unsettled ground. What other reasons might exist for her not wanting him to have it?

A shiver ran down his body.

_The Major is right._

Dr Scully didn't want him to have the vaccine because she wanted him to be a supersoldier. And not just any supersoldier.

"Scully administered the vaccine to children. I would know if she didn't." Gibson tapped his head again.

"Then why not Liam?"

Gibson nodded slowly. "That question again."

Liam was filled with a urge to knock him down the shingle hill to wipe the smug expression off his face.

_Why not me? She wants me to be a supersoldier._

Deep down a little voice scoffed at his conclusion.

_Why abandon logic now?_

What evidence was there to say he was becoming a supersoldier? None. But try as hard as it did, the voice was lost against the wild beating of his heart, the air eddying about his ankles, the feelings inside and out he couldn't ignore.

_Why does she want me to be a supersoldier?_

The walk down the hillside was somber. For about the fifth time, Liam noticed Gibson looking at his wristwatch.

"Curfew in less than half an hour," Gibson said after his last glance.

"I never came this way," Liam's mother said. "How far are we from cover?"

"We're about half an hour away—there's a shelter on the other side of that ridge."

Buoyed, they quickened their pace, slipping and sliding on the shingle slope in their haste. Gibson pointed out the roof of the shelter. Liam struck out behind his dad, happy to have their goal in sight.

At first Liam thought the patch of red was a kind of desert flower he had never seen. It stood out against the dirt it lay in. It caught his attention and as they approached it Liam found himself eager to examine it.

But his sense of trouble stirred—and then Sal started whimpering.

Not a flower. Not a rock.

A mauled backpack.

Clothes lay scattered.

Liam collided with Gibson's outstretched arm.

"This isn't right."

"What happened here?" Harry peered around him, shading his eyes.

Liam broke away from Gibson. "Ellie!"

He skidded to his knees, a whimper rising in his chest. Jerry's container lay tipped on the ground. Mindless of the sharp points and slicing edges, Liam thrust his hand into a tangle of undergrowth. "Jerry? Jerry?"

"What is it, Liam?" His mother crouched beside him.

"Jerry! He's got to be here! He can't be gone—I'd know!"

"Sweetie—we don't know what's happened here yet."

He ignored her, raking the ground for any sign of his frog. And there it was. His chest knotted. An arm's reach away, blending in.

Horror tore out his heart and lungs, boiled the blood in his head and limbs. Ripped the scream from his body.

Liam howled.


	32. Chapter 32

December 16, 2012  
New Mexico

Liam thrust his hands into the dirt and scooped up the delicate body.

"Please be alive." He cradled Jerry, willing him to twitch, to move, to jump a thousand feet in the air. "Please live."

Sal pressed her nose in under his arm.

"Let me see?" His mother pried away his fingers to reveal the tiny sorrow. "Oh, sweetheart."

There was no hope in her voice.

_It's not real. I would have known. I can't let this happen._

He could make Jerry's blood pure energy—could make it flow—he knew he could. That's what he was supposed to know how to do. Like Stan. A microscope on his ability—it would see him delve between molecules, swoop into atoms, sink under a breathless universe of subatomic particles—he could see them all, order them all; conduct them to dance.

He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Jerry's heart beating.

The insides of a frog were not all that different to the insides of a human. Brain, lungs, organs, veins—but everything was still, no matter how hard he pushed his will into Jerry.

The frog lay lifeless in his hands.

"Liam, he's gone—there's nothing you can do."

Marie took his hands and made him rest Jerry on a bed of earth in his little container.

"What happened here?" Liam's dad poked at the strewn clothes with a stick as if he expected to find a snake under them.

Gibson ignored the bag and clothes. He was looking across the desert with clenched fists when he hissed. "Supersoldiers."

"What?" Harry raised the stick defensively. "Where?"

"We need cover. Not the shelter." Gibson scanned the slope behind them. "Up there—those boulders."

It would be a scramble, but the red slab protruding from the hillside had to be as large as a house. If they could get behind it, they would be impossible to see.

Marie rose. "Do they know we're here?"

"No. But they're in the area." Gibson pivoted, dragging Liam to his feet by his pack. "We have to move."

Liam hugged Jerry's container to his chest as they stumbled along. "Lemme go."

Marie and Harry hurried to keep up.

"Can you tell how many there are, Gibson?" Harry asked.

"They don't think individually—I'd say more than four, but I'd be guessing."

Sal ran ahead to the shoulder of a small gully. She didn't bark but there was insistence in the wag of her tail.

"Can you … can you read them?"

"They're hunting."

"Hunting what?"

"They don't know," Gibson said. "The camp probably."

Liam's father was aghast. "What?"

"They found a juvenile out here alone. Juveniles don't just go wandering in the desert."

"Elaine and Michael Paskowitz should have made it out this morning. What happened to them?"

"I don't know." Gibson stopped in concentration—and then he gasped. "Bounty hunters—a group of them. That can't be right!"

For a man with such an ungainly gait, Gibson could move quickly when pressed. He wend through a stand of creosote trees butting up against a low rock wall.

"Gibson?" Harry said.

"They—they stepped out of nowhere. Keep going." Gibson hauled himself up to a ledge and reached back to help Liam's mother up.

The climb was child's play for Liam, who managed it with one hand while still holding Jerry's container, but Harry paused at the bottom to wipe his forehead. "Where are they?"

"They're still some way from here … over that way." Gibson pointed beyond the hut. "I should have sensed them much sooner ..."

Shading his eyes, Harry studied the land. "Should we go back? If this area's crawling with them, maybe it's too late."

"No way." Marie shook her head. "We can not go back to that place, Harry. What are you doing?"

Color slipped from her cheeks when Liam's father shrugged off his pack and sweater.

"Someone's got to warn them." Harry looked up at Gibson. "How much of a head start do I have?"

"Start running and don't look back."

"Harry! No—"

Liam's father grazed his wife's outstretched fingers with the lightest of touches. "Back soon, hon—I'll make sure of it."

"Dad?"

Resettling his pack and tossing Liam his discarded sweater, Harry gave him no time to object. "Stay with Gibson. Do what he says."

Harry slipped over the hill and out of sight, heading back the way they had come. It seemed like a good idea.

"Shouldn't we go back too, Mom?"

Gibson waved Liam and his mother onto the narrow trail up leading around the boulders. "You're safer here. We just need to stick it out. We'll wait as long as it takes."

"But—"

"Harry can make it. There are vehicles at the camp if they have to evacuate. There's a safe house they can get to."

There was little point in arguing. They dug their feet into the scree and gripped whatever handholds seemed secure until they were able to squeeze behind the large boulder jutting out from the escarpment and Gibson was satisfied. He plucked water bottles out of his pack and threw them to Liam and his mother, who drank deeply from hers.

Marie wiped her mouth with distaste. "Plastic water."

They all rested with their backs against the boulder.

Liam balanced Jerry's container on his knees. Emptiness dulled him. Something had been severed—his mental connection, his ability to understand what was going on in Jerry's mind.

He stared until staring made him sick.

When he couldn't stand the hollowness anymore he put the container aside. It felt like betrayal. His mother's eyes were heavy as she gave him a sad smile.

Liam turned away. Better she didn't see his pain. He couldn't bear her sympathy.

Blackness crept in around the edges of his vision. It became impossible to keep his eyelids open. Gibson had planted himself on lookout at the side of the rock. He seemed alert.

A quick nap wouldn't hurt, would it?

_When his eyes snap open, he's not behind the rock—it's all around him. He has to warn Dana. Shapeshifters are coming._

_To think he never used to believe in them._

_How to get out of here?_

_He could use the boy to alert her. She might not forgive him, but he'd rather give her that opportunity than have her wind up dead._

_Like Monica._

_But when he searches for the boy, his panic swells. He can't use the boy._

_Must get out now._

_He draws his bloodied hand from the rock clutching a sharp slice of schist. He presses the rock's sharpest edge to his leg and begins to saw._

Liam came to with a yelp. He looked around wildly until he remembered the supersoldier was only in his dream.

His mother was curled on her side about her bag, an open water bottle still in her hands. Her eyes were closed and her shoulder rose and fell with each breath. His violent awakening hadn't disturbed her.

Gibson was looking at him. "Bad dream?"

"It was nothing." Liam sat up and scraped dirt from under his fingernails. "Dr Scully lied to me. Why didn't she give me the vaccine?"

A gust of dry desert wind snuck around the rock and blew hair into Gibson's face. "Believe me—harming you is the last thing she wants to do."

"Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anyone anymore."

"Good point," Gibson said, stretching.

"You must know why she didn't. You can read her mind. You know other things about me, but you won't tell me."

Gibson flicked a strand of hair caught under his glasses. "I can't just go rifling through people's memories. I can only read their thoughts as they think them."

"So you don't know anything?" When Gibson didn't reply, Liam sneered. "Thought not."

Gibson shrugged. "I don't need to tell you. You could work it out for yourself if you really wanted."

"She said she was helping me. Am I the commander? Because I don't want to be—and she knows that. That's why we're leaving, isn't it? Mom knows."

He leaned over to remove the water bottle from her clasp to stop water spilling. She didn't move.

"I guess we sort of thought maybe Dad—"

Gibson made a face. "You were encouraged to think that."

"All this time it was me." Tears stung Liam's eyes. "I don't want to be a supersoldier."

"That's really worrying you, isn't it?"

"She lied to me."

"If it's worrying you so much, why don't I just give you the shot?"

"Huh?"

Gibson rooted around in his pack. "I've got a dose right here."

He pulled out a metal vial and a needle.

"How—"

"All those people turning up at the staging point," Gibson reminded him.

Liam hesitated. Maybe he shouldn't rush into a decision. He glanced at his mother for her approval. Surely, if she was awake she would give it. But maybe there was a real reason Dr Scully hadn't given him the shot.

No. There wasn't. For whatever reasons she had, she wanted him to be a supersoldier. There was no way he'd let that happen. He'd show her.

Liam pushed his sleeve up to his elbow.

Gibson shook his head. "It's better in your upper arm—or under your ribs ... that'd be easier.

Liam flinched as the needle sank into his skin. He was still rubbing his throbbing ribcage five minutes later. "No one said it hurt so much."

"I'd have been a crap doctor," Gibson said.

As Liam rested beside his mother and Jerry, he supposed he should be feeling relief, but the pain was like a knife in his ribs.

Hoping for distraction, he wriggled around the rock as far as he dared. It gave him a view of the slope.

The red of Ellie's bag below was a beacon taunting him. The sight of Jerry had physically hurt; he hated to think what had happened to his friend.

"What have they done with Ellie?"

Gibson joined him. "They must have taken her—I don't know where. I have no sense of her at all. She may be long gone by now—or behind some sort of force field."

"Why?"

Gibson's laugh was devoid of mirth. "Why anything?"

"What happened to her family—and the other people who left with them?"

"That's a good question. I've got no answers for you."

Sweat trickled down Liam's scalp. His fingers went to his chest to scratch. "What about the curfew? That must have started now."

"Too bad about the curfew." Gibson yawned. "It wouldn't be the first time you've broken it."

"That was different."

"Yeah." Gibson pinched the bridge of his nose. "There's almost probably no need to worry about the curfew now. The base has emptied out. Doesn't matter if they find it now."

"Except for the people there."

Sharp pebbles dug into his stomach and elbows. Worst yet was the pain on his inside—like blood grazing his veins. A bell rang in his head reminding him of the nightmares he'd had of the female supersoldier months ago. He willed himself to ignore the sensations.

He kept up his watch on the desert but as the minutes ticked by nothing stirred.

The air was chilly, but the winter sun still had surprising strength in it. It moved around and the ground began to heat up. He crawled back to his mother and brushed grit off his jeans. His head was clearing although his insides still felt like they'd been sandpapered. _I am not turning into a supersoldier._

"Are they still out there?"

Sunlight glinted off Gibson's glasses. "Passed by fifteen minutes ago, probably about half a mile away. We got a wide berth."

"Dad?"

"Your dad's running blazes. He's going so fast his lungs are burning. He thinks they're going to explode."

"Rudi said they took little kids. Did experiments on them."

Gibson kept his gaze straight ahead. "They don't really make much age distinction beyond adults and juveniles. They don't classify things the same way we do."

The sky overhead was clear, but in the east bruised clouds tumbled in. Thunder clouds. This weather is strange.

Gibson wasn't looking up; he fixed on the distant hills and flat in front of them.

"Do you see anything?" Liam asked.

"Nothing." Gibson's thick brows drew together. "They've got to be out there."

Liam wanted to agree—but the landscape was noiseless. There was no familiar hum of life. Even the birds had abandoned the area. Ellie was somewhere out there. She had to be.

"We have to rescue her!"

Gibson regarded him with hooded eyes. "How do you propose to do that?"

"You said it yourself. Those shapeshifters came out of nowhere. There's a ship out there! Close by."

Removing his glasses and rubbing them on his shirt, Gibson took his time answering. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"There has to be! At least let me go look. The area's clear—you said!"

The need to get up, to move, to do something was overwhelming. Anything to chase the swirling thoughts in his mind. Dr Scully's lies, the fake vaccine, his mother's worried face as she ordered them to flee the camp, his dad tearing up the hill with the devil on his tail; the red backpack; Ellie. Jerry. He muffled a sob; pain grew behind his eyes. At least it numbed his ribs.

Gibson looked at him oddly. "What about your mother?"

Liam didn't like to wake her. He just wanted to have a look. He'd be back soon. "I won't be long."

There was a sly upturn in Gibson's mouth. The superiority of an opponent watching the game play out as he had known it would.

"Why don't I come with you? If your mom knew I'd let you go off on your own"—he knelt beside her and nestled Jerry close by her cheek—"she should be okay here."

Curiously, his last act was to empty her water bottle and set another in its place. He didn't answer Liam's quizzical look. "Be stealthy, stick with me and don't do anything rash."

Sal was on her feet. She knew what he was planning. A moment of indecision stopped Liam; she would be useful for a search … he shook his head. "Sal, you stay and protect Mom."

It was hard to say if Sal questioned or approved his plan. She dropped by Marie and Jerry, tail swishing in the dust.

They circled the area around the pack. Every few steps Gibson would stop and freeze. But he wasn't looking in the undergrowth; he appeared to be examining the air.

Walking and watching Gibson cleared Liam's head. But after minutes of finding nothing but dirt, rocks and more desert bush he started to lose himself again.

_If Dr Scully had given me the vaccine, we wouldn't be here._

He refused to acknowledge the irrationality of his thoughts. It was her fault. Everything was her fault: the vaccine, their escape. Ellie. Jerry.

It was torture the way all his thoughts seemed to come back to his frog. His head was feeling kind of fuzzy, wasn't it? He clutched at a sudden and futile hope that this was all one elaborate hallucination; that he would wake—back at camp—and find Ellie laughing at him and Jerry doing his frog thing at the bottom of his tank.

"Watch it!"

Liam rubbed his banged nose. "Sorry."

"If you're not going to help look, you're really no good to me," Gibson said. "Do you want to find your friend?"

"Yes."

For once he cursed that Gibson couldn't read his mind. Then he might understand. "Have you found anything?"

Gibson shook his head. "There's not much out here."

Liam agreed. "'Cept for Sal I don't really feel any animals. Normally they make a place feel alive. Even in empty places there's usually lots of insects. Here, there's nothing."

They wandered along some more, Liam trailing Gibson, who seemed to be selecting their path randomly all the while testing the air instead of the ground. They steered clear of the shelter although it was always within sight.

A satisfied grunt from Gibson made Liam's heart race.

"What is it?"

"Not what—who." Gibson was striding now—cutting across a shallow ridge and disappearing down the other side.

"Shouldn't we be—"

Curiosity compelled him to chase after Gibson.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw them together: stooped Gibson and the lanky accountant.

What was _he_ doing here? Liam hadn't seen him in months. He had assumed the man had left like all the others.

Liam slowed as he neared them.

When the accountant caught sight of him, his face brightened, unsettling Liam further. They had never been close—never had a proper conversation. Why is he smiling to see me?

"You're here. Good," the man said, turning back to Gibson. "Is everything in place?"

"Were you listening to me? Something's wrong. A group of bounty hunters set off toward the camp … wait—" Gibson stared at the man. "None of this is a surprise to you."

"You knew there could be a price. The Little Gods would have been suspicious if I didn't pay it."

Gibson's jaw dropped. "You told them about the camp?"

Liam watched, transfixed, as the accountant's features lengthened and sharpened and a familiar face emerged. Jeremiah.

"What you ask me to do will be no easy feat. If there is any doubt over my loyalty, it will be impossible."

Liam had never seen Gibson blindsided. The mind reader gawped at the shapeshifter.

"But—but that puts everything at risk."

"Sacrifice the Queen to save the King, yes? You understand the metaphors of strategy games."

"But—"

"If we—if you and I—do not succeed as we planned, everything fails."

Emotions rippled over Gibson's face. The experience of shock must have been so new to him the muscles in his cheeks weren't used to their unusual flexing.

"There is one other thing—they will examine you too closely. They will not trust you. Liam must carry it in parts."

"Fine."

Liam peered at the object Gibson pulled from his bag.

"That's the extractor …" In horror Liam clutched his aching side as Gibson dismantled the device. "What did you put in me?"

"It won't kill you."

Months of simmering anger erupted in him. "You're both liars! You and Dr Scully! I hate you!"

"Of course you do—put this in your bag."

Several pieces of nanobot extractor were shoved into Liam's chest. "What? No! I'm sick of—"

"And I'm sick of your whining." The mean Gibson of months ago had returned, and he was furious. "You are such a little ... Scully—"

"Shut up! I hate her! This is all her fault!"

Gibson snarled. "You ungrateful shitty little scab. You have no idea what she's—"

"I don't care—"

Jeremiah cut him off. "We need to go now."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Arms went around Liam as he turned to flee. Jeremiah had him imprisoned. Liam kicked and fought to free himself, but Jeremiah had him in a tight lock.

"Be still."

Liam's legs went hard as stone. "What are you doing?"

Gibson replied. "What no one else had the guts to do."

"We must move swiftly," Jeremiah said.

Dust rose over the slope in the distance. Liam struggled—he tried ramming his head into the shapeshifter's throat, but Jeremiah's grip never loosened. As they tussled, a vehicle crested the hill driving straight at them. Before it got close enough for Liam to tell if it was from the camp, Jeremiah twisted about.

The desert in front of them shimmered like a mirage. Liam shrieked and shut his eyes as Jeremiah carried him into undulating air. A shiver went through Liam, but when he opened his eyes to murky blue on the other side, he discovered he could use his legs again.

Gibson, who must have come through just after them, grabbed his wrist.

Liam looked back just as the blurry shape of the vehicle slammed on the brakes and a figure leapt out.

She didn't hesitate.

"Liam? Gibson?" The doctor ran headlong at the rippling glass. "Liam!"

When she hit, her body went rigid. It rose into the air and pulsated—as though thousands of volts of electricity were coursing through it. As quickly as she was pulled up, she was spat out. She landed in a sickening heap.

"Scully?" Beyond the force field Mulder dropped to her side.

But she wasn't ready to give up. She fought his hold, hauling herself to her feet. She screamed, firing rock after rock after rock straight over Liam's head.

As blazing light descended on him, as the air churned in a violent swirl, as he felt a terrible, terrible chill strike his heart, her broken cry was the last thing he heard.

And recognized.

"William!"

* * *

**End of Part II**


	33. Chapter 33

**Part 3**

* * *

 

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you

_Fix You,_ Coldplay

* * *

December 21, 2012  
New Mexico

"Hello, Sunrise. I'm Liam. You're the fifth sunrise I've seen on this ship.

"I'm not afraid of you, Sunrise—just in case you were worried. That's not to say it doesn't get bright in here—but you don't hurt me. I can stare right at you. See? Not even blinking.

"You're not really that good, actually. You don't make me feel warm at all. And you're not here long enough to make a difference. I get cold all the way down to my toes. Why did they have to take my shoes _and_ my socks? That's just weird. What do they want with holey old socks anyway?

"I suppose you're wondering _why_ you're here. I'm wondering that too. I never got a choice. They never ask me if I want to see you. I just wake up and—'poof'—there you are, shining through the wall or the ceiling, or whatever they call it.

"It would be nice if you could say something to me. But you're just like everyone else. You're just like Waterbottle—he never talks—he's just a big drip. Ha! And Nano made fun of me with his little blips and beeps. That wasn't talking.

"I miss him. He looked like a Gameboy. Flashlight stays safe in my pocket. They haven't found him yet. But I try not to talk to him. His batteries might run out.

"The supersoldiers don't talk ... but some of them could. Sometimes I think they _want_ to talk. Like, if they stayed a little longer something might come out.

"But I don't think they're allowed. _They_ won't let them. The ones you never see.

" _They_ let me see you because they're mean. Or they like to show off. They never show themselves—I've never seen them. But they want me to know what they can do. I don't know how they do it—turning the wall transparent. Not like glass—you can see glass. I think they did it first to test me—to see if I'd try escaping.

"I won't try that again. I know the ceiling's still there—I've got the bruise on my head to remind me, remember? Won't fool me that way again. I'll throw Waterbottle. He didn't mind last time, did you, Waterbottle? I'm sorry for throwing you. I wanted to see how far you'd go. Not my fault you couldn't make it over the edge of this pie.

"Blurgh. You taste worse than yesterday.

"What's that?

"You don't like being chucked across the room? You don't want to play that game anymore? Who cares what you want, you little ... you little ...

-o0o-

"Do you reckon metal pie tastes alright, Sunrise? Strange they'd put me in a slice. I suppose it's 'cos the ship is round. Like a saucer. Ellie would say that's cliché. Is she trapped in a slice of pie too? Or Gibson?

" _He_ might be, but I don't think Jeremiah is. I don't think he was ever on our side. He's one of _them_.

"Imagine if you could talk back, Sunrise. What would you tell me? 'Hey, Liam, don't worry, the horizon hasn't changed—we can't be going anywhere.'

"But you could be lying. Everyone else does. _She_ did. She shouldn't have lied. If she'd told the truth—don't think about that, Liam. Stop thinking about it. Keep talking to Sunrise.

"You might not even be real. Maybe they just turned the walls and ceiling into a giant TV screen. Maybe they show me you so that I'll think I have a chance.

"What chance? They planned this—Gibson and Jeremiah. They wanted me here. They got me right where they wanted me.

"It's okay here, though, I suppose. It's not like this room is a prison, really. A piece of pie with the tip nibbled off.

"Maybe they come in here to stargaze. At night, when the walls and roof go invisible, the stars in the sky look so pretty. Unless there are clouds. Then it just looks cloudy.

"It would be great if you were a bit warmer. The blankets they gave me aren't thick. And the supersoldiers never listen when I tell them. Even the nice one. At least when she comes, she always brings something hot. She's the one who brought me a cheeseburger. Remember, I told you? It was still warm in its paper bag. And the french fries were crunchy.

"I asked her where she got them from—'cos it's a little strange, don't you think? She just stood there. The way they do.

"It would be nice if they said something some time. They can't just leave me here. I mean, no offense, but you and Waterbottle don't have much to say, and I never understood the things Nano said. I tried talking to the walls, but they were zipped up smooth.

"That's my secret, see—shush, you won't tell, will you—I have to keep talking. If I stop, all I hear is the silence. That's when I think _they're_ listening in. I think they're trying to _get in_.

"When they get in, they go through my memories—I know that's what they do. They make memories pop into my head like they're looking for clues. Things like when Mulder and Dr Scully first got to our house and Mulder's phone beeped and they saw the message and looked so shocked. Or when Mr de Rosier rescued us and took us over the pass and Dr Scully kept getting more phone messages. _They_ want to know who sent the messages.

"I can't let them know. When I talk, they can't get at my memories.

"If I talk, I can stop them.

"YOU HEAR ME, GRAYS? I CAN STOP YOU.

"I can fill the silence. I can sit up. Have you ever heard it so quiet? It's not normal. It's not even dead. Even dead has a sound. No sound means no life _or_ death. I can't even find a spider. Or a germ. There's always supposed to be ger—"

 


	34. Chapter 34

December 21, 2012  
New Mexico

"Wash, change and come."

Liam gaped at the supersoldier standing over him. Her words were the first not his own he had heard in days.

The sunrise shining through the transparent wall had winked out and the walls reverted back to gray, leaving them in low light.

Liam scrambled to his feet, his hunger for real conversation overcoming his apprehension. Before he could speak, a bundle was shoved into his chest.

He wobbled as he overbalanced trying to hold the surprise gift and rub the sleep from his eyes. "What's this?"

He didn't wait for any reply. "Two buckets and a facecloth, t-shirt, underwear, jeans. Socks." The compulsion to talk had disappeared when the supersoldier melted through the metal wall, but days of non-stop chatter was habit-forming.

He pulled a carton from the empty bucket and read the label. "Choc-2-Go liquid breakfast. Mom would hate this."

For the second time in his life, he'd been kidnapped. And for the second time, he was left wondering if his kidnappers knew what they were doing.

Liam set the items down with belated thanks. Usually they brought only food. Everything about today was different. The wall at the supersoldier's back rippled and a glowing rectangular rim lit up.

"So there _is_ a door."

How far would he get if he made a dash for it?

_Where would I go?_

The metallic gray of his room bled into the metallic gray of the corridor … but the corridor had something he hadn't felt in days. Sounds of life.

As if the ship knew what he was thinking, the portal snapped shut.

_Why show me a door? Why now?_

Usually they came, deposited a tray of food, and dissolved back through the wall as though they did not like being in the room with him.

This supersoldier stood military straight.

He had seen her several times. She always scraped her golden hair back in a severe French braid, exposing the black roots at her scalp. The plait did a good job of concealing the pea-sized nodule on the back of her neck. Liam had seen it only once when she had knelt to give him dinner.

Her presence made the sealed room bearable.

Alone, the air felt dense. Liam could stand and he could breath, but a weight pressed all around him. And it was too quiet.

He couldn't think when he was standing. Most of the time he stayed low, lying or scrambling about on his hands and knees.

By himself, this room was filled with dead space, but he refused to believe it. A spider, a bug, bacteria. If he tried hard enough, surely he'd be able to detect something?

He pushed and pushed with his mind but the mental exertion was futile. Why did they need a room so sterile?

_Why don't_ I _make a sound?_

It was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had never truly noticed until now how unsilent the world was. All life made a sound—like background radiation.

But the room wasn't silent all the time. It was like his hearing was being switched on and off. Whenever a supersoldier melted through the wall, normal sounds flooded his ears.

Like now.

The sound of the supersoldier thinking was as loud as her heart beating. If he had wanted to, he could have reached out with his mind and …

_And what? Don't go there, Liam._

He had found himself stuck in a supersoldier's mind once. He shuddered at the memory.

But they had left him here, by himself, for days, and it hurt.

Loneliness hurt. That's why they had put him here. _They_ wanted him lonely. To make him desperate enough that he'd have no choice but to test himself.

They _wanted_ him to reach out with his mind. And if _they_ wanted something, it wasn't going to be in his best interests. That's why he had to ignore her thoughts.

Besides, supersoldiers had already stolen too much of his time.

There was only one he wanted to hear from, but the others crowded his dreams at night.

Awake, he was stuck in this prison, but in sleep he moused his way through corridor after corridor, nosing for a way out. Around every corner, a supersoldier would pop up, all talking at him with haunted eyes and voiceless mouths. He rejected them all.

The same way he rejected the supersoldier standing in front of him now.

She hadn't moved.

Wash, change and come, she had said.

Liam gulped the liquid breakfast down, then turned his back on her. She was the only one who ever brought him washcloths and towels. Today was the first time she'd brought him fresh clothes.

"This would be easier if you just let me use the bathroom."

He peeked over his shoulder to see if the supersoldier would react. Her face—smooth and youthful—remained slack.

He was quick to splash himself. Then he examined the clothes she had given him, holding up the jeans before stepping into them. "You left the price tag on. Seven bucks."

He pulled on the clean socks, luxuriating in the extra layer they gave his feet on the cool burning metal floor.

What they feared he would do with his shoes and socks was a mystery. They had forcibly removed them days ago, the same time they had taken his bag. That was right after his first sunrise.

They had ignored his water bottle, and only by sheer luck did they miss the Democrat Springs flashlight which he had used to explore his room and which had been tangled in the sheet they had given him the night of his arrival.

Hoping the supersoldier wouldn't notice, Liam slipped the flashlight into the pocket of the new jeans. He left his discarded clothes in a heap.

The supersoldier glanced at the pile and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

Liam held back a laugh. "Where do you get your laundry done around here?"

For beings who had years of experience abducting people, the way they treated him seemed clumsy. He could have been their unexpected, difficult guest—not their prisoner.

Did all abductees end up in giant chambers like this? If he could move about the ship, would he find Ellie sealed in her own special room?

He clung to the hope.

"Are there others here, like me? Is that where we're going?" Liam asked, tugging on a sweater, even though he knew the supersoldier wouldn't answer.

For five days (if he could trust the number of sunrises) a supersoldier had been coming to his palatial cell three times a day bringing food, water and buckets.

He had seen no one else.

Gibson and Jeremiah were gone. No sooner had they all stepped through the blue light in the desert and materialized in the chamber than a supersoldier had appeared and led them away.

No fuss, no nothing.

Liam had been left no time to understand what he was seeing.

Alone.

It didn't take long for disbelief to set in.

He had run his hands along the smooth walls looking for some sign of entry. There was nothing. Walls, floor—ceiling, for all he knew—were one continuous shell.

He had known right away the room was strange—but he hadn't been able to put his finger on what made it so.

He had pounded his fist against the wall before giving up. For hours he kicked air and ranged the large pie slice-shaped room with the sound of Dr Scully's cry reeling in his head.

William.

His name. His _old_ name. The one still on his birth certificate.

It had never sounded like his name before—not when his mom or dad had used it. But when _she_ had said it ...

An emotion he couldn't name stirred and an old forgotten snippet of a conversation resurfaced—his mother talking to Dr Scully. _"They say a child never forgets the sound of his mother's voice."_

Liam had fallen on his back on the floor to stare into the unfathomable dark. Even that ended in failure. The ceiling became transparent, letting in the night light. Stars twinkled on his misery.

He'd had everything upside down. Ellie's suggestion months ago that the mysterious Esther might be his mother had seemed like a perfect fit in the puzzle that was his heritage. There was no evidence—Liam knew about the danger of jumping to conclusions—but it had _seemed_ so perfect.

Now he was seeing clearly for the first time.

_Dr Scully is my mother._

The truth went further.

_They think I'm the commander._

It was overwhelming to know not just who he was but _what_ he was.

It didn't matter that he didn't want it to be so. People like Doggett didn't get a choice—why should he?

He had a connection with Doggett. He'd been denying it for months. Those flashes in his dreams—he had been seeing through the supersoldier's eyes. And the supersoldier had been seeing through his—Liam was sure of it.

_Is that because of who I am? Is that what's going to happen to me?_

But knowing the truth wasn't the same as having all the answers. If Dr Scully was his mother, why had she done the things she had done?

_Why didn't she give me the vaccine? She knew what I might become but she didn't try to stop it._

_And where is she now?_

Nothing made sense about Dr Scully. He had seen her face as he disappeared behind the force field. Had seen the angry tears.

On his first afternoon of confinement, once the first wave of anger had passed, then the conflict of confusion, Liam willed himself into composure.

She was going to try to rescue him. He knew it.

She was with Doggett and Mulder and they were planning something. Doggett had been there with them—in the vehicle that screamed to a halt just in front of the force field. Somehow—Liam tried to ignore the images of severed limbs in his mind—Doggett had freed himself and was now with Mulder and Dr Scully.

Glimpses of Doggett had popped into his dreams since then, but he was always at a distance—and there were always other supersoldiers vying for Liam's attention.

Liam refused to let go the hope that rescue was coming, but other worries gnawed at him. Dr Scully had Mulder and Doggett. But who did his parents have? And where were they? Did his dad make it back to the camp? What happened to the shapeshifters heading that way? Where was his mother? Was Sal with her?

With these worries lodged in his heart, Liam had pressed against the smooth surface of the floor, feeling the icy ship skin against his skin. Feeling his breath go in and out. Through his fingers he could feel a tiny quiver. His whole body felt heavy. Especially his eyelids.

Images had churned in his mind's eye. As if a cauldron boiled and a witch syphoned off the snapshots that bubbled to the surface. Early memories from his life on the farm in Wyoming.

Someone (or some _thing_ ) was dipping into his memories, bringing up images he hadn't thought of in years. Why couldn't they bring up something useful—like a memory of himself when he was a baby?

Liam gasped.

It had been in _that_ moment—still and detached—he had finally worked out what bothered him about the room. Lifeless silence.

He had probed the void, pushing his mind into the furthest corners of the eerie quiet. He had felt this before but never as intensely. He was being watched—inside and out—but not by Doggett.

That's when he had realized his memories might be dangerous.

That's when he had started talking.

He talked to anything—his water bottle, his flashlight, the spectacular wall which became a window three or four times a day. The more he could hide his thoughts, the safer he was.

Prattle kept his deeper thoughts from surfacing, kept the ones he wished to protect away from prying minds.

To feed his chatter, he occupied his time by pacing the room.

Light came from a band of glowing metal which ran eye height in a circuit around the room's four walls. It was enough to illuminate the bottom half of the space.

The inner wall—the flattened tip—rose so far up the flashlight beam couldn't breach the shadow at the top. He'd have to stand on the shoulders of ten grown men to see up there. But as he walked to the curved, outer rim, the ceiling sloped down so far he had to duck his head.

The walls were smooth and carried a rhythm. He couldn't see them move—but he could almost swear energy surged through them. He had mapped them with his hands, looking for any chink, any clue for a door. There were no seams to find, no cracks between metal sheets, no joints. Yet the air stayed fresh and occasionally a cool eddy flowed over his face. It was possible there were ducts hidden in the darkness far above his head.

Most of the time the ceiling was dark gray—like the walls. But at certain times of the day and sometimes the night, he would hear a click and then a hum, and the outer wall and ceiling would vanish. As if a can opener had sliced off the top and side of his prison.

He could see right through into the desert. The sky and horizon would appear with a bluish cast.

The horizon never changed so he assumed he hadn't been whisked away into deep space. It was one of the few things he clung to whenever he felt panic rising in his chest.

The ceiling was there—a tender spot on his head still ached from the one time he had run into the invisible barrier thinking escape would be as easy as climbing over the edge and jumping.

It was never going to be that easy.

If the sunrise could be trusted, they hadn't moved and were still in the desert. He hadn't seen Doggett close up in any of his visions since then, but he and Dr Scully and Mulder could still be out there. Planning a rescue.

But where was Gibson? And why had he worked so hard to get Liam on the ship?

Thinking of Gibson was enough to set off a tornado of emotions. Gibson had as good as given him answers—but not enough to know what to do.

Liam knew why.

There were Grays on this ship.

And Ellie.

And tomorrow was December 22.

_And I am the commander._

Five days it had been. Rescue would have been here by now if ...

No one was coming.

Suddenly he didn't want to leave the room, and when the supersoldier summoned him, he balked. "Where are you taking me?"

The portal re-appeared and the supersoldier stepped through it. Liam wavered at the threshold. This was his chance to see more of the ship—and maybe hatch his own escape plan. Or maybe learn his fate.

The tunnel on the other side curved away in two directions, illuminated by another stripe of lighting running at eye level. The walls crept high up into darkness, concealing who knew what. He could run … but to where?

The supersoldier's grip on his wrist was chilly as she pulled him through.

The portal sealed itself.


	35. Chapter 35

December 21, 2012  
New Mexico

Liam tried talking himself into calmness. A rhythmic hiss whispered overhead and scratching noises rustled in the walls.

"So far, so good. Everything's okay. Nothing to be scared of."

A boom fell in the darkness in front of them. The supersoldier powered through the gloom. As she moved, little lights traveled just ahead of them like a guide.

"See?" he said to himself. "Must be normal for here."

The tightness in Liam's chest eased. The sound hadn't harmed him.

"It's so noisy out here." His voice came out squeaky. "Is it like this all the time? How does anyone sleep?"

The supersoldier marched on.

Liam raised his voice. "Does Ellie have a quiet room like mine? Do you know Ellie? Will you take me to see her?"

If he kept pestering her, how long before she broke?

The path keep curving.

"There's not much to look at. Don't you get sick of all this gray?"

The walls were sleek and gave nothing away. Liam didn't notice the curious etches on the floor at first. The pattern emerged as they strode on. The marks were all different, but spaced at regular intervals. Many of the shapes seemed no more than scribbles, but some were recognizable. Arrows, circles, parallel lines, crosses—even common letters from English and from other alphabets.

They stopped on one, and the supersoldier squeezed his hand, making him look at her in surprise. A tube of light rose around them. His stomach clenched like he was falling.

When the movement stopped, they were in a new, wider corridor.

It could have been a different ship.

_What if it_ is _a different ship?_

"Where are we? We're still on earth, aren't we?"

Signs of construction jumped out at Liam. Rivets, joins, bolts, a patchwork of metal sheets formed an interminable progression of squares stretching in front of him. Like looking at a mirror in a mirror.

This corridor was straight.

"That blue light—did it just take us here? Was that some sort of elevator?"

Long thin tubes and rods ran the length of the corridor. Metal cabinets hulked in the shadows. They might be useful to hide on if an opportunity arose. Not that he might need to hide if he did escape. There didn't seem to be anyone to hide from.

"Where is everyone?"

She looked at him without speaking then pulled him along again. Guide lights sprang up as they walked forward.

"Don't you live on the ship?" He might as well keep up the one-sided conversation. "There aren't many rooms. Lots of walls, but no doors. You're not big on doors around here, are you?"

This corridor was as gray as the last one and the scratched marks, which were evenly spaced here too, came every fifth step. Liam started counting them.

At twenty they hit a juncture bisecting the corridor.

They stopped and another funnel of light enveloped them. When the brightness fell away, they were on another curved passageway.

The supersoldier pulled him to the right, his socks sliding on the slippery concourse. In a moment of rebellion, he braced his feet and waited for her to tow him along. He risked giving her a cheeky grin when she turned a bemused glare on him.

Perhaps she read his mind. She let go.

She let him dash and slide, dash and slide around the sweeping corridor. She stopped him only when the echoes from his yells got sharper and a rush of warm air breathed into his hair.

The supersoldier caught up with him and took his hand again.

Green light licked the left hand outer wall, and all of a sudden the wall on his right gave way to a large railed-off opening.

A stink assailed his nostrils. Liam stopped and stared out on the expanse.

A broad black column rose from a sea of green goop and went all the way to the top. From it, reaching out like giant wings were two bejeweled walls. Hundreds of bright green pods on rods lined them in a grid.

He was on the edge of a spectacle, looking down on a grand stage.

"Is that the center of the ship?"

It had to be. It was so vast a space, it would fit nowhere else on the ship. Liam was willing to bet if they walked in a circle, they'd pass seven massive wings just like the two in front of him, all radiating from the middle. Everything in this ship seemed divided up like pizza.

The column was too black to make out any detail, but the pods shone. Each one was a shiny cocoon dangling on a vine from a rod.

"It's like a tree. The rods are branches." Perfectly aligned branches going from top to bottom. No tree in nature would ever grow like this—not without careful cultivation.

The walls weren't solid. Both had at least twelve stacked rods. And through the gaps, Liam could make out the green of more pods.

"What are they?"

Dark spots marked where pods were missing, breaking the precise arrangement.

One twitched. Within its green sheath, dark lines folded over one another. The casing was semi translucent and a curled up human shape pressed hard against it.

"What's in them?" He had the uncomfortable feeling he already knew. Liam shivered as tingles crossed his body. "This is how supersoldiers are made, isn't it?"

He peered over the rail.

The green luminescent pond steamed. A black line—a path—ran between the wings to the column like a spoke.

Breath caught in Liam's chest when a group of people strode into view below him. The group halted by a low hanging pod which was darker than the rest. The pod was jumping and writhing on its vine.

Without warning the sheaf split, releasing a gush of goo that splattered and steamed as it dripped into the glowing pond.

Liam squinted to see better, then recoiled.

Tiny pale dots wriggled around the slit like maggots, ripping it wider. A wrinkly leg poked itself out. Seconds passed. A scream tore through the cavern and a slimy figure heaved itself from its egg-sack and leapt to the path.

When it rose from a crouch, one of the waiting figures held up a scanning device and ran it over the naked form.

The scan complete, it stepped into formation.

Liam froze as the group turned. If they looked up, he would be seen ...

Even after they walked away without a single glance in his direction, Liam didn't dare do so much as blink.

_Are they going to do that to me?_

A crackle to his right brought him back to attention. A red light blinked above a cocoon. A sound like a charging pulse started up and suddenly the pod blackened, spat electricity, and popped. Ash showered the pods beneath it, leaving an empty space in the row.

"What happened?"

The supersoldier's reply was unexpected. "Defective. More and more this is happening."

Liam looked at her in shock.

Slowly, the supersoldier tapped her index finger on her arm at the point where a vaccine needle might go in. Then her arms dropped to her side and she stepped past him. "Follow."

Had he understood her right? Was she telling him something about the vaccine?

He gripped the rail and shook his head. He couldn't form any more words. If ever there was a time to run, it was now.

He shot a look at the tunnel they had just come down. He launched himself into a getaway. Before he had gone one step, she had clawed his t-shirt.

"Please," he whispered.

He tripped over his feet when she yanked him along.

Instead of staying on the same flat path which circled the massive chamber, she dragged him on a parallel path veering off it.

They were spiralling down. Periodically they passed more viewing platforms.

Finally the path hit a dead end. A small inverted triangle pointing into the wall ruined the otherwise perfect smoothness of the floor.

There was nowhere else to go.

Liam expected the supersoldier to open a portal for him as she had at the room. He was surprised when she stood there.

Seconds ticked by.

A little bravado crept into his voice. "Are we waiting for something?"

Her gaze on him was steady when she spoke. "Are _you_ waiting for something?"

Liam frowned.

The shake of her head was almost imperceptible. She looked back at the wall and it flashed and winked open.

Bile flooded his mouth and tears sprang into his eyes. The stench of rotten eggs and charred flesh hit his nostrils. Green goo frothed and glowed through the metal grill platform at his feet.

A high-pitch drone and sporadic gurgles echoed around the chamber.

They were at the bottom of the cavern beside one of the gargantuan wings. Unconsciously Liam put his hand out—he could just about touch the lowest pod nearest him—but snatched it back when the row twitched and a spark jumped at him with a crack.

They stood on the platform at the edge of the room. A black path led right over the goo into the middle. To the black column.

"We wait," the supersoldier said when Liam looked at her. She let go his hand with a warning and a glance at their feet. "Be careful."

There was nowhere for him to escape. He could either run in an endless circle along the outer edge or head to the column. Neither option appealed, and with one false step he'd end up falling off the platform into the green stuff.

_That does not sound like a good idea._

He made the mistake of looking down.

Translucent human bodies lay in the goo beneath him.

Liam clutched his stomach, trying to control his dry heaves. He could see through their skin. Could see pale veins and tissue.

Green vines coiled through the substance and into their upcast mouths. Lips sucked clear as see-through jellyfish. Their heads were tipped back. Liam found himself staring into the glassy, empty gaze of one. Seconds later a slurp of suction pulled the body along in a slow motion swirl. Like water creeping down a drain pipe.

"Who are—?"

"No one."

Above him, the cocoon pods on the lowest rod slowly closed up a blank spot. At the far end, where the rod emerged from the column, a new green pod popped out.

Liam traced the journey with his finger. "They get sucked up into a funnel in the center ... and come out in a cocoon."

The supersoldier touched his forearm but shook her head. "They are joined but not the same."

His heart rate sped up. Joined by the green vines. He blinked back tears caused not by the stinging vapor rising from the slush, but from realization. The bodies below were feeding the bodies in the pods.

He gave his sweater a fearful tug. He needed to send his nerves somewhere. "Where are you taking me?"

The bodies below appeared to be a mix of men and women, but interspersed among the obvious adults were smaller ones. Children?

He broke away from the woman, hurrying down the center path, peering at every upturned face. "Is Ellie here?"

She was none of them. He turned to confront the supersoldier, wobbling on the narrow platform. "Who are they? What's happening to them?"

His heart thumped again when another hand clamped down on his shoulder. Liam twisted around.

A man stood over him, lips stretched over teeth like a mummy face. He pinched Liam's chin between his thumb and three fingers.

Dread petrified Liam. He had never forgotten that face—or the terrifying escape from the field in Wyoming.

One Arm let go and flicked a grin the woman's way. "I will take him."

Liam wanted to argue, but his mouth seemed fused together. His feet started moving. His whole body betrayed him as he was herded to the black column. He battled hard to conquer his terror. The green substance at his feet shimmered and the burn of sulfur hit the back of his brain.

_I don't have to be afraid. They_ want _me to be their commander._

That didn't mean he wouldn't end up getting rinsed in the green goo cycle though. It seemed so stupid. All this time he'd heard stories about the aliens conducting advanced medical experiments. How funny would it be if all they had to do was push him in the soup, or seal him up?

He blinked away the ridiculous thought and forced himself to straighten.

Whatever happened, One Arm would not kill him. Why should he cower? Liam squared his shoulders. "You got your arm back."

One Arm snorted.

"Pity about your finger."

They stopped dead in front of the broad column. It was so wide there was nothing in Liam's field of vision but black. But he was close enough to see the column wasn't smooth. A black lattice grill covered parts of a solid metal funnel.

Quicker than a click, a portal glimmered. Liam stumbled through and found his nose hard up against another barrier.

They were stepping through layers on their way to the center of the ship.

As before, they waited—seconds, maybe.

The longer they stood, the harder Liam fought to keep his confidence from draining away. He looked down at his shaking fists and legs and saw a glow crawling up the wall like paper being eaten by embers.

The glow made him draw back. Electricity had sizzled and jumped from the defective pod—but this light was contained within the wall. The air across his nose and cheeks was cool even as the ember line leveled with his face. It continued its climb until it disappeared over his head.

It revealed nothing—at first. There was nothing but darkness.

But a faint flicker, like a faraway candle flame, made Liam squint. He reached out—and winced when his hand struck a solid surface. One of those invisible walls.

The tiny light fluttered, then, without warning, it intensified, illuminating a rounded wall behind it.

This was the circular room he had been waiting for. The room around which the ship had been built.

The light bobbed like campfire flames in the middle of the room, and rising up from its center was another pillar.

Rough hands shoved him. Liam braced himself, expecting to smack into the invisible wall again.

He stumbled forward, arms wheeling.

The wall was gone. But when he turned back, it was solid again.

One Arm turned and strode back to the goo chamber. The portal shut, cutting off the green glow.

"Hey!" Liam cried as he banged on the solid air barrier.

He had been abandoned. Again.

Hand on the wall for the second time in days, Liam walked the perimeter of the circular room, hoping for an exit.

There was none.

He was trapped.

The room was a temple: cool, pristine, and perfectly round.

The floor dipped like a saucer. It was the color of pale clay and was covered with thousands of tiny marks. The pitting reminded Liam of black drawings of thorns he had seen in fairytale books. Everything else—walls, domed ceiling—reflected the dancing light coming from the bottom of the pillar—but the floor was dull.

The marks whispered in Liam's memory. They were like the symbols on the artifact—or in the cave ...

Recognition shot a shiver through him.

A tiny shimmer in the pillar caught his eye. The glossy white sheen on it seemed to stir as if clouds were beginning to shift inside.

Whispering got under his skull, enticing him into the room. He crouched and spread his palms against the symbols to test the floor—and wished he hadn't.

Was it his imagination, or was the floor gently rising and falling?

"Hello?"

There was no answer, and Liam told himself not to be stupid.

"It is not breathing," he said and forced himself to step onto the marked surface.

The whispering grew louder. And the clouds in the pillar began to sharpen.

_There is nothing here that can harm me._

A shadow darkened from within the pillar.

Liam grew cold.

Long fingers unfurled against it. Pressed for escape.

* * *

He left the hand in the pillar hanging in a petrified high five.

There was no way he was touching it.

That's what it wanted.

Liam had scooted back to the wall, but when he touched it the whispers burst into a clamor of voices which only lessened when he came back into the room. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid looking into the pillar.

"I am in a room. The floor dips like a bowl, the room is round and I will not look. Talk, Liam. Talk."

They were waiting for him. "You are _not_ getting in!"

Even with his eyes closed he could sense pulses of light.

He huddled on the floor, pulling his sweater over his head to keep out any intruder. "I will not watch, I will not watch. I will find a way out."

Hand in the pillar, heartbeat in the floor. He was not alone.

Liam shivered himself into darkness. A band clamped around his head. Unnatural sleepiness overtook him and he felt himself slipping until he could no longer determine if he was awake or dreaming.

In his mind, tiny black droplets rose around him from the pitted floor. They quivered and hovered awaiting command.

He came to with a gasp and found his cheek pressed against the slippery wall. He had no recall of standing, let alone moving. He must have sleep walked. When he drew his hand back, black blots in the shape of his fingers stayed behind.

He leaped away, but when he tipped his head back, he shrank.

Large written words and symbols in his own italics stared down at him. But they weren't his own words, and the layers were so dense he couldn't make sense of any of them.

Liam scrubbed his hand against his thigh, desperate to remove the black substance coating it. At his feet, tiny black filaments, thin as lashes, disappeared, seeping into the clay scratches. He knelt, unwilling to believe what he was seeing.

He ran a finger along the floor and checked the tip. It came away clean.

He jumped to his feet again. "Who _are_ you?"

In the end, all he could do was watch.

Plumes of smoky clouds started to swirl beneath the surface of the round wall. The swirls smudged the words he had written. Images materialized like the wall was some crazy Magna Doodle board.

Liam yelped when crude baby faces—born with rage and hunger—snarled at him from the smoke. Images trapped in the wall, they dared him to follow. He had to walk the wall with them to keep up with their unfolding story.

_No way to know where They are born, or from whom, but They crawl from whatever womb expelled Them and scrape a path on all fours until a hand falls in the darkness, pinches Their necks and hoists Them to Their feet._

_Daylight dawns and They see Their own ugliness. They clip Their talons and file Their teeth. They slough Their juvenile skin, becoming smaller, sleeker, less dangerous_ — _and more._

_Creatures of the roads, both greater and lesser, merge with Theirs, in bright sunlight. Sometimes They share, often They do not._

_Those who can not survive the road are dust and memory. Where others grind themselves down upon the road, They forge on._

_The road has not ended, so neither can They._

_The sun beats on._

_Each step extracts its toll. Each footfall claims its chip._

_Every creature dreams of sleep._

_They fashion Themselves new limbs to walk on, new arms to reach with, new bodies to carry Themselves._

_They call Themselves the Navigators but fear They will be last to arrive._

_But the road is the promise of a destination only the worthy can reach._

_Night and Their Mother wait for the worthy._

A pang of sadness hit Liam as inky footsteps outpaced him. He couldn't say how, but he knew they could never stop, and they walked too fast for him to catch them now.

And they were alone.

These were the Grays. Who they were. Where they came from. This was what they wanted _him_ to know.

They were trying to make him feel sorry for them. It made him want to stamp his foot.

"Disney called," Liam yelled into the room. "They want their screen back ..."

The last footstep faded away.

Liam stared at the wall. The smoke stilled. If their story _was_ true, why didn't they just share it? It wouldn't get them off the hook for all the terrible things they had done, but if people knew, maybe there was some way they could help?

Jeremiah had said, a long time ago, that the Grays thought of humans as nothing better than cattle. That they didn't understand what humans were saying.

"Why tell _me_?" Liam asked.

The smoke shifted again. The vision putting words in his head he could not account for.

_Once, a Star was stolen from the Navigators._

Smoke tendrils formed the outline of a woman plucking the star from the day sky.

_The woman swaddled the Star in her arms and kept Him warm. She called herself Mother, invoking the power of the word._

_Knowing she had done wrong, fearing He would be taken from her, she hid the Star in the night sky—a place the Navigators could not reach._

_But by Himself the Star grew cold and lost._

_Because she had abandoned Him, the woman was cursed with longing. Every night she would gaze at the sky for the chance of seeing Him._

_Knowing the power of a mother, the Navigators stayed close to the thief, waiting for the time she would pull down her Star again._

_They could make Him shine again—and when He did, He would lead Them to the night and They would be worthy._

They, too, would find Their mother.

Feeling shot through his heart. Liam took a step to where the image of a child folded in loving arms disintegrated.

"You don't know where you came from," he said to the wall. "And you don't know where you're going. And that hurts. But how can _I_ help you?"

The light shimmered and the room whispered at him. _"Shine ... "_

Liam glanced at the pillar and shivered. The fingers within it spread a little wider.

"How?"

" _Reach out ..._ "

Liam held up his palm.

_"Remember ..."_

All he had to do was reach out. That's what they were telling him. No scary experiments. No operation to drill holes in his mouth or implant chips in his teeth. Reach out to them. If he did, they would give him the power to remember.

What harm could it do to remember?

Liam felt himself tearing in two.

He had steadfastly refused to think about his past when he was younger because his parents were all the world he needed—and, maybe, he had known the futility of wishing for something which could not be.

But they were offering him a chance now. A chance to know his mother—his true mother—not his adopted mother or the woman who should have been here by now to rescue him. A chance to know the mother who had abandoned him eleven years before.

It was tempting ...

But it was too easy.

And besides ... how would his memories help them?

As if they had tapped into his thoughts, the smoke in the wall started to shift again.

Sparky came alive in the smoke. And Jerry. And hands.

There were other things—simple images which carried explanations greater than they themselves could convey: Save Jerry. Save Sparky. Be who he was born to be. It would be as easy as reaching out …

It wasn't just his memories they were offering: The power to re-order the universe with his mind and his hands. A feeling of rightness flooded him—just as much as a feeling of wrongness.

What they offered wasn't natural.

Liam gave a strangled cry. "I won't."

It didn't come out as strongly as he wanted.

Their offer was tempting and they knew it.

"I won't." He forced the conviction into his voice.

He sat again and ducked his head. He wouldn't watch anymore.

Beware a free gift.

The light faded and the walls went transparent, picking up the green of the glow from the outer chamber. One Arm appeared at the edge of the room. He said nothing but Liam knew it was time to go.

Liam was returned to his cell in silence.

When they stopped on a scratch—an X—Liam lifted his gaze to study the supersoldier. The man's face gave away nothing.

The portal opened. Liam stepped through—and discovered he was not alone.


	36. Chapter 36

December 21, 2012  
New Mexico

Blood had crusted in trickles over Gibson's knuckles—he could have been wearing lacy red gloves. Holding his hands like a boxer fending off a blow, he huddled on the floor in the middle of the pie room.

"Gibson—"

Liam gulped when Gibson lifted his head in a directionless scowl. Deep welts were branded into his cheeks. Dark patches stained his t-shirt.

"Fuck you."

The air tasted of salt, sweat and metal. Liam hesitated at the wall. "What happened?"

The anger faded to something different. Hope? "Liam? Is that you? Your bag. Have you still got it?"

"No, they took every—"

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit."

"Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?"

"What did they—" Liam swallowed again, creeping in for a closer look.

"I'm supposed to give you a message." Blanching as his hands grazed the floor, Gibson tried to push himself in the direction of Liam's voice. He thrust out his hands. For a second it looked as though he would pass out. "Don't resist. That's the message. Got it?"

Had someone scraped the skin from his arms?

"What—"

The energy went out of Gibson and his head dropped. "Don't resist."

"But—"

"Help me"—his hand made a feeble wave—"need something to lean ..."

There was nothing but the walls. Liam hooked his arms around Gibson, careful not to touch the exposed flesh, and dragged him to the closest one. He looked at the back of Gibson's neck. It was smooth. No sign of any telltale bump.

Gibson sank against the support with a twisted smile, his shoulders heaving as he panted.

"Sick of ... being ... a ... lab rat." The lenses of his glasses magnified his unfocused gaze. He gave himself a minute to catch his breath. "Know why ... they made me?"

Stealing a look at Gibson's tortured skin, Liam shook his head. His gut twisted and he had to turn away. He panned the empty room. A blanket, two towels, a bucket of water, his old clothes—folded.

"I was a prototype. A thing that gets made first."

_A thing that gets tested._

Liam scooped up the towels and bucket. "They're still doing tests on you?"

"They _all_ do. None of them will stop. Don't know why they bother."

Gibson could have been a meditating monk the way his elbows rested on his thighs and his arms extended over his knees.

"This is nothing," he said through clamped teeth. "Men did brain surgery on me once. No anesthetic."

As calm as he appeared, the raw flesh on Gibson's arms, hands and fingers screamed.

The thought of sticking towels to the weeping injuries made Liam shudder. The hands themselves glistened. How could this sort of wound even heal?

For five days he had stewed and fumed over Gibson's betrayal—over Dr Scully's. He had dreamed of this moment, of confronting them. But the sight of Gibson injured and hurting tore up his revenge script. He wished furiously his medic molecules were real.

A memory of the pillar in the round room jumped into his mind. " _Shine_ ," he heard in a whisper.

"Are you still there?" Gibson asked desperately.

"Yes." Liam shuddered into action. "I'm going to try to cover your arms. They—they don't look good. Your cheeks look grilled—"

"I can't see anything."

Liam set about tearing the towels into strips. He was forced to use his teeth to start each rip—which he knew wasn't very sanitary. "What happened?"

"Locked me in a holding pen. Left me. Don't know about ... Jeremiah." Gibson ground his teeth when Liam knotted the first bit of makeshift bandage around his left arm.

"Am I—am I prototype too?"

"Always about you." Gibson snorted but shook his head. "The trouble ... with you, Liam ... is that no one ... knows what you are."

"Not even the aliens?" Liam gave a particularly savage yank.

"Especially not the aliens. You're what you should be—what you were designed to be—but you're more than that."

"What do you mean?"

"You were not entirely ... what they expected."

"Who's 'they'? The Grays? The supersoldiers? My _mother_?" His lip curled in a sneer.

 _That's right_ , he wanted to say, _I know_.

He expected one of Gibson's knowing smirks. The expression of a race winner watching his competition collapse over the finish line of truth. Instead, feverish sweat dribbled down Gibson's face, and his only discernible emotion was pain. It frustrated Liam that his medic molecules were all in his head. And it frustrated him that he couldn't rid himself of his wish that they worked.

He clutched at his temples when he heard the whisper again. " _Shine ... remember_."

He tried to chase the voice away by thinking of other ways to help Gibson. "Rudi's artifact! It came from a ship. If I could find one here, I could heal—"

Gibson paid him no mind. "It doesn't seem right that I should be the one telling you this."

"I can heal you! I just need to find—"

"You don't need to. _You_ shouldn't need it."

The vehemence of his words stabbed Liam in the chest like an accusatory finger. But when he continued, he rambled down another track. It was hard to tell if he was delirious or not. His breathing was less ragged and his speech was more steady. Even so, his head lolled to one side.

"Did you know she wasn't supposed to have children? Probably not. I can't imagine how that would ever come up in conversation."

The image of Garrett de Rosier, so long in the past, flashed into Liam's mind. "One of the men who helped us escape—he told us Dr Scully had a daughter. He never mentioned … he never mentioned a son."

"No surprises there. Every electronic record mentioning 'William' was very carefully expunged from the system."

"How?"

"Same way we were protecting the camp. Paperwork, surveillance footage, texts, phones messages—all wiped. Our own version of Purity Control. Better than a bomb. We've been controlling information. An entity capable of staying one step ahead of her opponent is a handy person to have on your side."

He paused to take in a slow, laborious breath. "You were the result of years of testing. On me. On Scully. On women like Scully. They thought _they'd_ made you. That might be true, but when you were born they realized you were also something more. Something they hadn't counted on. Not yet. It didn't change their plans—if anything it convinced them even more. You were some sort of miraculous proof they'd been seeking."

Starting at the elbow, Liam knotted a loop and wound the bandage down Gibson's other arm. Ragged edges of skin were starting to dry and shrink. The pain alone should have knocked Gibson out. Instead he was awake and talking. Telling Liam's story.

Liam had no feeling. He listened in a daze. The numbness suppressed his urge to vomit.

"It suited them to have Scully think you were an experiment. To keep her doubting."

"Is that why she got rid of me?"

"Scully did not 'get rid' of you."

"That's what it seems like. I was eight months old when Mom and Dad adopted me. Seems like she wanted me for a while—then she didn't."

He pulled tightly on a strip, making Gibson grunt.

"Things happened to you. People kidnapped you, tried to kill you. What your uncle did—wait until you find out about _that_ side of the family—it had the most lasting effect."

Liam couldn't help rolling his eyes, but his mind boggled. _I have an uncle?_ Aloud he said, "What did he do?"

"Snuck into your room, injected you with an inhibitor, tried—"

" _You_ injected me with something."

Irritation flickered on Gibson's face and he raised his bandaged hand to his lips in wordless warning.

There was no way of telling who might be listening, or how.

"Some details don't matter." He sucked in a breath as Liam secured a binding. "What you should know is this: your origins were set in place by both men and alien, but you were more than they expected. They tried to convince Scully you were solely the result of experimentation. Mulder saw through that. He recognised that you were more."

"Mulder is my—"

"Biological dad? Yeah."

"So it's true."

"What's true?"

Liam tied the final knot. "They gave me up because I was a monster."

Gibson couldn't see but it didn't stop him rolling _his_ eyes and then wincing from the movement. "You're determined to see this from the worst possible angle, aren't you?"

"Well, what other reason could they have?"

"It's very, very complicated."

"I'm old enough to ask—I'm old enough to know."

"You were all she ever wanted."

"Could've fooled me."

"When she couldn't have you, all she wanted was to have you be happy. When an opportunity came up for you to vanish, she took it. As much as it upset her, the inhibitor your uncle injected you with served one valuable purpose—it rendered you invisible. Until that point every supersoldier in the Milky Way could have found you in a black hole if they wanted to."

"If they wanted to?"

"While you were still a kid, it was easier for the Grays to let your parents raise you. Even once you were invisible, they weren't too concerned."

Liam turned an unused scrap of towel in his hands. "If I was so invisible, how did Stan end up moving next door?"

Here, Gibson glowered. "Jeremiah _said_ it was a miracle. That God led him to you."

"Don't you believe him?"

"I don't know what to believe anymore. He kept things from me. He shouldn't have been able to do that."

Liam was tired of having to put the pieces together. Tired of having to swallow unpalatable truths. He scooted to the wall to sit next to Gibson. "Why didn't she just tell me?"

"That you were her son? You still don't get it, do you?"

Liam let out a sigh. "Get what?"

"Everything Scully has ever done for you has been so that you could be safe and away from the craziness of her world. Safe—that's what you were in Wyoming. You had great parents, a nice home. You had an idyllic childhood."

"But something went wrong—the supersoldiers _did_ find out where I was."

Gibson turned his head away. " _Did_ it go wrong? Some might argue what happened next was for the best. Wyoming could never be a permanent solution. Scully never understood that. You couldn't be left there. We needed an excuse to get you out.

"The Grays weren't worried about finding you because they've always believed you'd end up here by circumstance. They have no concept of doubt. For them, things just are. No one understands how their belief system works. They're not mystics like the shapeshifters, but they must have some sort of faith. Hell, seeing where we are now, maybe they have a point.

"But the supersoldiers—and the men who helped make them—don't have the luxury of absolute certainty. They're too new to have any beliefs. They were desperate to have you in time for December 22."

"That's stupid. Aren't they all on the same side?"

"You saw what camp was like. People can want the same things, but disagree on how to get them."

"So how did the supersoldiers find me?" An answer so surprising popped into his mind, he gasped. "Did _you_ send them to my house?"

Gibson's nose twitched. "We knew it would only be a matter of time. We knew Doggett had been turned and he had some clues on how to find you. Wyoming was no longer safe. The immediate threat of supersoldiers was the only way I knew I could get Mulder and Scully to step in.

"They got a message with a code word and instructions on where to go. They didn't know until the last minute, though, what they'd find."

"Me."

"If they'd been given any more time, they might have tried something different. They wouldn't have agreed with my plan. They didn't want to disrupt your life. They didn't want any of this for you. And they never listened when I told them it would be inevitable."

"How did you know Doggett had been turned?"

Gibson sniffed. "I was told it was going to happen. I didn't have a chance to stop it."

"Who told you?"

"Someone who controls the flow of information. That's all you need to know."

"Someone keeping watch." Liam turned in time to see Gibson's tiny nod.

Sensing the danger of the subject, Liam took another tack. "What did they do to you? I saw the room with the supersoldier cocoons and the green stuff. Did they try to put you in one of the pods?"

Gibson shook his head. "There's a room. It's like the energy center of the ship, but it's not like energy as we know it—it's part of them. They wanted to see if I could become a part of it. I can't." He put up a bandaged hand. "Human flesh is frail."

"I've seen that room." Liam swallowed, looking at Gibson's mummied arms. How close had he come to the same fate?

"Why do you think they have all those pods? I thought people just caught a virus and turned into supersoldiers later on?"

"Clones. They needed humans to create supersoldiers—but clones are better. Quicker to grow, less expensive to feed."

"Oh," Liam said queasily. "I don't want to be a supersoldier."

Gibson reached out and, finding Liam's arm, patted him awkwardly. "You are what you are, brat. You can't run. None of us can."

"But shouldn't we fight? Isn't that what you want?"

"I used to." Gibson touched his hands to his cheeks. "Fighting hurts. I don't know that the price is worth it."

Five days stewing over the betrayals—but now, looking at Gibson, Liam struggled to know what to be angry at. He squirmed, trying to get comfortable, absorbing what Gibson was telling him.

He stared at the wall in front of them, hypnotized by his thoughts. "We wouldn't have believed them—if they had told us. Dad would have chased them off the property. And I guess after that they didn't know how to say anything. It would have been weird."

"Mulder and Scully knew you'd have enough to deal with. You, and your mom and dad."

"But we trusted you. We trusted them. Now I don't know where my mom and dad are—and they won't know where I am." He frowned suddenly. "What am I saying? You can hear them, can't you? In your mind. Are they alright?"

Gibson dipped his head. "Sorry, kid. It doesn't work that way for everyone. Wherever they are, your parents are too far for me to reach. This room doesn't help either."

The sudden hope in Liam's heart died. He hugged his knees to his chest, trying to keep the sting out of his voice. "If you'd told us the truth, we wouldn't be here."

"Scully was afraid of scaring your parents. Afraid that if they knew the truth, they'd take you and run. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to protect you. Scully tried her hardest to make a new life for you. She tried fighting the truth. Can't blame her—that's what mothers are supposed to do, aren't they?"

"Did your mother"—Liam stumbled—"did she try to help you?"

Gibson went rigid. "My mother got written out of my life."

Was that some sort of euphemism? Liam shuddered. "What's going to happen?"

"Who knows?"

"Can they read your mind?"

There was no need to say who "they" were.

"We can communicate, but no, I don't believe they can take my thoughts without my permission. I can read theirs—but now I know they can also hide their thoughts from me. Some of them, anyway." His face went hard.

"You mean Jeremiah?"

"Sending bounty hunters to the camp—that wasn't part of the deal."

"Kidnapping me was?"

"You'd have done the same thing. You've got advantages we don't have. And if the Grays are to be believed, you'd have ended up here anyway."

Since he was not sure exactly what it was that Gibson had done (apart from arrange for him to be kidnapped and injected), Liam felt he could argue the point. But there was something more important to consider.

"What about Ellie? Where is she?"

"With her parents, presumably. We had to find a way to delay you in the desert. Jeremiah planted the pack. I don't know how he did it, but kidnapping her wasn't part of the plan."

Liam shook his head. "But how did he get Jerry? He killed Jerry."

Gibson shrugged. "What do you want me to say?"

"How about sorry?"

"But I'm not. I could say I was—would that make you feel better? We both did what we felt we had to do."

"You wanted to get me onto the ship."

"It had to be you. There was no other way."

"Why me?"

Gibson banged his head against the wall. "Have you listened to nothing I've said? You're not a test subject to them. You're not a lab rat. They think you're one of them. They were less likely to check you at the border, so to speak."

The spot where the injection had gone into Liam's ribcage five days ago ached on cue.

"If things had gone to plan, you wouldn't have been on the ship very long. Getting you on was a calculated risk. I was going to take over. Jeremiah was supposed to have you off the ship within the hour. That won't work now."

Without knowing where it came from, a name formed on Liam's lips. "Esther."

Gibson nudged him with his shoulder. "She has a habit of getting under your skin."

A thought occurred to Liam. "You were famous for playing chess. You taught Eric and Rudi."

The change in topic brought a small smile to Gibson's face. "Chess is a game of strategy. It helps knowing what your opponent is thinking."

"This has been one whole chess game to you. You never gave up. _You_ slipped my medical folder under our door."

Gibson nodded. "I had to find some way to get you away from the camp."

"My name—my old name—was on the file. Mom worked it out ..."

"Your mom's a smart lady. I knew she'd figure it out—and I knew she'd recognize the danger you were in."

"What danger?"

Liam had never questioned his safety at the compound. Not really. There had been scares—especially after he broke curfew—but the thrill of adventure, and later on the monotony of routine life, had pushed away lingering concerns of threats.

"What do you think would have happened to you if Drummond found out?"

"But I'm a kid—"

"Not if you're the commander, you're not. It was a risk having you in the camp, but as long as we could keep your secret, it was the safest place. Our friend kept an eye on us from outside; Mulder, Scully and I kept a watch on you inside."

"Why didn't Dr Scu"—Liam struggled to know what name to use for his biological mother—"Why didn't she give me the vaccine?"

"Scully believes you don't need it. I don't understand the science, but your DNA is the basis of the vaccine. Everything comes from you. Both the vaccine and the supersoldier cure—although cure isn't exactly the right word. You don't need it—or it wouldn't work on you anyway."

"She gave me a fake one."

"She shouldn't have done it. She knows that. She gave up the right to make those sorts of choices for you. She couldn't stop herself. She just wanted you not to worry. They both did. Mulder argued with her, but when it came to you, he deferred to her."

Liam turned over these new facts slowly. A corner of his heart ached.

_If only—_

"Why didn't they just run away with me? All those years ago? You kept me hidden. You could have helped them."

"Circumstances were—difficult. But mainly, Scully could never be free—not unless she wanted to gamble with her life. She had that chip in her neck."

Liam's eyes burned as though sand had been blown in them. "She got rid of it—when she went back for Jerry."

"There's nothing she wouldn't do for you."

"The cancer ..."

"Was kept in check by the chip."

Liam blinked away a sneaky tear. "But she got better—she was sick and then she got better."

"Jeremiah healed her—to force Mulder to move. I needed Mulder to get ..." Gibson's mouth twitched. "He wasn't going to leave her side—not when she was so sick—so Jeremiah stepped in. He never really left the camp. He simply disguised himself as another refugee. I agreed to keep his secret. I thought we were both working on the same side."

"But the cancer's come back. Why can't he help her again?"

"Jeremiah can heal her but he can't cure her. The cancer will keep returning."

"So she's dying."

Gibson exhaled. "Worse, brat. She's dying—for you."

Liam sought comfort in his own hug. "I didn't ask her to," he said, his voice small and lost.

Gibson patted him again. "You didn't ask for a lot of things."

They sat side by side in silence while Liam digested the story. Every now and then Gibson gave a whimper. Whatever he had planned had failed spectacularly. His pieces had been wiped from the chess board. What more was there for them to do? Without a way out of the room, they were stuck—unless rescue was on its way.

Liam had had no proper visions from Doggett for days. He didn't like to consider what that might mean. At least with Gibson, the room didn't feel so heavy. He could concentrate—could focus his mind—more easily.

If he gave in—if he went back to the round room—he might be able to help Gibson. The round room was where Gibson was injured—but that might not happen to Liam. That's what Gibson was saying.

Liam might be able to help a lot of people. If he could heal people, could he heal Dr Scully too? Maybe the humans had made a mistake? Maybe the Grays weren't bad—just misunderstood. Maybe they didn't want to hurt anyone and everything was just an accidental. A cosmic misunderstanding.

The pain on Gibson's face was hard to ignore. Yet the Grays had done just that. They had ignored his pain. And the pain of every type of being they pulled into their neverending quest to reach the end. Humans were nothing to them.

They truly were alone.

_And that's why they have to be stopped._

He glanced down at his hand which rested on his ribs. The words were out of his mouth before he knew what he was saying. "Your plan—what if _I_ did it instead?"

"Do not fucking tempt me," Gibson muttered before raising his voice. "Scully would never forgive me." A scowl returned to his face. "Don't think I wouldn't get you to. It's the perfect solution. But it's a bad idea for one overwhelming reason—it's too risky. We might end up making the situation worse."

_You mean I might end up becoming the commander._

The coolness of the room crept into Liam's haunches. He tightened his arms around himself to draw in some warmth. Even if he could escape this room and this ship, he couldn't escape himself.

* * *

The only reliable measure of time Liam had was his stomach. When it started grumbling he estimated it was definitely evening. No one had come to their cell and the walls had stayed gray all day. He hadn't eaten since breakfast. Who knew when Gibson's last meal had been. He had gone silent hours before, slumped against the wall.

Liam sat beside him for a while, counting, arranging, and rearranging the towel scraps in front of him. When that grew tiresome, he paced the walls, head bowed, lost in thought. When his legs got sore, he sat down, his hands coming to rest on curious triangular marks on the floor. They were so faint he hadn't paid them any notice before. He puzzled over the shapes, tracing them with his fingertip.

A sharp gasp from Gibson put him on instant alert. The man had tensed. "Something's not right."

Seconds later they both felt it. A tiny vibration in the floor.

Liam looked around the metal room. "We're not about to takeoff, are we?"

"No. Maybe. I can't tell." Gibson pushed a hand into his eye. Sweat still coated his forehead.

Minutes seemed to pass before he let out a breath and dropped his arm. "It's gone."

They waited but the ship had gone calm again.

"How you feeling now?" Liam asked.

Gibson brought his hands together like he was examining them. "I just wish it was all over."

It sounded like a dismissal. Liam resumed his pacing of the walls. He needed distraction from the gnawing in his stomach. He supposed Gibson might be weary, but he couldn't help himself, blurting out a question he had longed to ask. "Why were you so mean to people? To me?"

Gibson blinked in surprise. "Can't you guess? You had not one but two sets of parents who'd have done anything for you. You intrigue people without disgusting them. You could have been the anti-Christ and Scully and Mulder still would have walked through fire for you." Resignation filled his voice. "Me? My life was different. Some people _called_ me the anti-Christ. It makes you bitter."

He resettled himself against the wall. "My parents never stuck around for me. Scully and Mulder would have cared for me. Doggett did for a while. Him and Monica. But somehow you were always there. You were the goal. You were the one we all had to protect.

"No one in my life cared for me like that. Not even Mulder and Scully."

"Do you hate them? Is that why you brought me here?"

Gibson almost growled. "I _hate_ the men who worked for the Grays. As for everyone else—I've learned to live with the disappointment."

His closed eyes were probably a sign to stop badgering him.

Liam walked around the room some more, ignoring his hunger pains and processing as much of the day as he could: the way the supersoldier squeezed his hand when they passed certain marks on the floor; the light guide; the smoky story walls in the round room; the writing he had found himself printing; the pillar and the dark shadow inside it.

He knew now what the Grays were looking for—and what they promised. Memories and knowledge. But what did they want from him in return? How would he be their commander? What did they think he could do? If it meant giving everyone what they wanted, would it be so bad? Not all supersoldiers were bad—not anymore.

The illness which had affected Doggett had done something. He could remember who he was. He could make choices. He had been with Mulder and Dr Scully when they tried to stop him getting on the ship. That meant he was on their side, didn't it?

They had infected the second captured supersoldier but no one knew what had happened to her ...

Gibson lay stretched out against the curve of the wall and floor. Sleeping again.

The mysterious markings on the floor continued to draw Liam.

Did they relate to the portals somehow? Could they be operated by a weight trigger? A combination of weight movement? Liam padded on his feet, trying various sequences, each more elaborate than the last.

But that couldn't be right. Not only did it look ridiculous, it didn't match anything he'd seen the supersoldiers do. They had been their usual stiff selves, staring straight ahead.

Keeping his eyes in one direction while holding a frozen stance was not as easy as he had imagined. His lawless gaze shot off in chaos.

Concentration was the key. That's what this room was about. That's what they wanted him to learn. They _wanted_ him to find a way out.

_Breathe in.  
_ _Breathe out.  
_ _Drift in.  
_ _Tune out.  
_ _Be now.  
_ _Be—_

The room lurched. Liam's knees smacked the bucking floor. Sharp pain jarred his wrists as his palms slapped against the metal to stop his fall.

_Did I do this?_

He looked up, hopeful for the orange glow of the portal, but had no time for disappointment. Another shock flattened him. This wasn't his doing. The room was a kick drum. Boom after boom after boom exploded deep within the ship.

"Shit." Gibson stared at nothing in the distance. "Rebellion—"

"What?"

"They're trying to disable the ship—the supersoldiers."

"Disable? Or destroy?" Liam yelled as the floor started tilting again. The pads of his fingers burned into the metal to halt his slide.

Gibson had nothing to give him purchase. The slant sent him careening head first. Hoping desperately to stop him crashing into the wall, Liam let himself fall too.

The floor leveled itself as they smacked into the outer edge of the room. Gibson was a crumpled tangle. He blinked away tears from his burnt cheeks and gulped down the pain.

The ship righted itself, allowing Liam to scramble to his feet.

"That's it," he said. "I'm getting us off this ship."


	37. Chapter 37

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

The shaking went on forever—again. Liam growled in frustration on his knees. Without stillness he couldn't concentrate.

They were getting out of this room. He knew how to do it, he was sure. All he needed was the ship to stop moving so he could stand still and—

"Well?"

"Not yet!"

Gibson's impatience needled him.

"When you're ready."

Liam reined in a retort. Ever since he had revealed his plan, Gibson's comments had been divided equally between feverish hope and biting ridicule. He wanted Liam to deliver—but he couldn't allow himself to believe.

For himself, now that he had decided on a course of action, Liam just wanted to get off the ship. Before the metal holding it together decided to break apart. Or blow up. Or whatever it was doing.

Gibson's skill at mindreading was no help.

Whenever Liam asked if Gibson had picked up on the thoughts of anyone else on board, the injured man scowled. All he could say was that something was happening on the ship somewhere, but why and who was causing it was unclear to him.

"It's like a thousand voices shouting in a cave," he'd said. He'd lifted his wrapped hands to his ears too, as if that would drown the sound out.

The ship was still rumbling when Liam pushed himself to his feet again. He tensed himself to counter the movement and stared at the scratched lines. They were faint and almost triangular.

The dead silence of the room (when Gibson wasn't insulting him) was useful—but Liam knew he wasn't doing it right. The shaking, Gibson's expectation, his own determination were distracting him.

 _How_ do _you concentrate?_

As if responding to the plea in his question, the room calmed.

The floor leveled, the booming stopped and Gibson held his tongue.

Liam sucked in a breath, rested his palms against his thighs and reconsidered his theory. The supersoldiers hadn't been staring at their feet when they opened the portals, so why should he (except to keep his balance)?

He went back into his memories. He remembered the woman standing straight, gripping his hand and waiting. Had her eyes been closed or open?

Frustration was not his friend. He needed to find the void again. At least there he could block everything else out.

Planted, he felt the grip of his feet in his socks on the metal, the straining of the muscles in his calves holding him upright, the in and out of breath in his chest, the lifting of his chin as he trained his eyes on the wall in front of him then focused on what he could see in his mind's eye. He created the image of the marks, refusing to let them wander away. Not letting them slip through the dream net.

A burst of white noise shot into the room, and Gibson gasped.

"Shit. You've done it—haven't you?"

Liam snapped back to reality. A portal—a glowing rectangle—blazed before him. Gibson used his shoulder as leverage to push himself up. He inhaled, then staggered forward using his shoulder to guide him along the wall.

He stopped on the edge of the portal, its fiery outline contained within the wall and not putting out any heat. "What's there?"

There was no time for triumph or a fist pump. Liam joined him, poking his head into the dark corridor. He pointed Flashlight into the darkness and switched him on for a few seconds. "Looks empty. Both ways."

"I'm going," Gibson said with determination.

Liam gave the pie-shaped room a sweeping glance, his gaze falling on Waterbottle.

"Liam?" Gibson called.

"Coming," he replied, stooping to collect Waterbottle. A little bit of water was better than nothing.

_No one gets left behind._

Liam paused on the threshold. Leaving the portal open could give their escape away. But as he puzzled over how to seal the room, he was plunged into blackness. The portal had closed, but the guide lights did not come on automatically.

He almost laughed. "Damn. No emergency lighting."

"Make a complaint." Liam could tell Gibson was grinning. The pain could still be heard when Gibson sucked in a determined breath, but the despondency was gone.

"Guess there's no light switch handy," Liam said, wondering how the guide lights had worked before. Not that he needed them. He just hoped Flashlight had enough juice to stay on for them for as long as they'd need him.

"Put your hand on my shoulder. I'll lead."

If the action hurt, Gibson didn't let on. His shuffling steps soon became more sure as he trailed Liam.

"I figure we're somewhere near the top of the ship." Liam shone the flashlight beam one way, a fruitless search for clues. "I think I can get us down a few levels. We might find another way out. Let's just stay away from that room with all the pods."

"Mulder managed to get on and off a ship once. I think he used a venting system."

Despite his injuries and his unusual gait, Gibson moved quickly behind Liam. Liam kept an eye on the floor, fearful of missing a sign he might remember. With Flashlight in one hand and Waterbottle in the other, he found himself working harder to balance when the ship shook.

Mostly mechanical groans echoed back at them. Their own feet padded noiselessly. Liam still wore the socks that the woman had given him. Gibson's feet were bare. If he was feeling the cold, he didn't say.

While the empty corridor made their escape less stressful, it also caused its own unease. "You don't suppose they abandoned the ship and just left us, do you?" Liam asked.

"No," Gibson said, his voice low, "they're out there."

He would know. As if to answer him, a particularly violent rumble threw them against the wall.

But the tremors were becoming fewer and farther between. With Gibson unable to offer any more explanation, Liam had no idea what might be happening.

He wedged Waterbottle between his arm and torso. It freed him up to concentrate more.

He wasn't sure how far they'd come—for all he knew they'd done a circuit—when at last they came to a shape which tickled his memory.

"What is it?" Gibson asked when Liam draw to a halt.

"A way down, I hope."

* * *

It turned out to be easy.

A vertical line of symbols was etched into the wall. Liam chose the bottom one and focussed on it, fixing its shape in his mind. He extinguished Flashlight to eliminate the distraction of vision. A blue funnel rose around them and he felt a swooping feeling in his stomach before he had time to feel satisfaction or fear at what their destination might yield. Who knew what they were stepping into.

No need to ask if Gibson was aware of the sensation of movement. The whisper was loud in Liam's ears. "You're one of them."

How could he argue against it?

The light funnel disappeared, leaving them in blackness again. For all its inconveniences, the darkness was a comfort.

_If you can't see it, it isn't there._

A faint tink-tink-tink resonated in the murk. Cupping his hand over the beam, Liam turned on Flashlight again, keeping it low.

In reality any supersoldier probably didn't need a beacon to spot them.

They stood at an intersection. Two passageways curved, while a third struck off in a straight line. It was just a guess, but Liam thought it likely the straight passageway led to the edge of the ship.

"We should go that way."

A nod to the straight path was meaningless to Gibson, but he accepted Liam's suggestion. "I don't sense anyone down there. Lead on."

They moved as quickly as they could. Neither had any appetite for discussion, staying alert for any sounds that weren't their own.

The straight path went on and on. Symbols on the floor emerged from the gloom at regular intervals.

His spirits were raised when they hit another intersection, but five paces further ahead they ran into a dead end.

Liam rapped his knuckles on the gray metal in front of him.

Gibson's fingers dug into his shoulder blade. "Don't do that."

Frustration made Liam shrug him away. "There's no one here. It's a dead end. No one cares."

"So," Gibson said, "we look for another way."

"Yeah, I guess." Liam didn't say it, but he didn't want to head back to the center.

The bisecting corridor had to be the outermost ring around the ship. It was not an option. Going in circles—that was the last thing they needed.

Liam waved the flashlight beam over the dead end one more time. Couldn't there be _something_? He wasn't expecting an exit sign or anything ... but a door, or some stairs, or something familiar would be nice.

The ship hiccupped again. As Liam flung himself to the wall, Gibson dropped to his knees to ride out the motion.

Liam squeezed his eyes shut when the ship calmed, and as he did an image blazed in his mind. He was looking down at his own legs in fatigues.

He was seeing through Doggett's eyes.

He looked up to see Mulder's back in front of him. To his side was the familiar red hair and short form of Dr Scully. They were running down a dark corridor—passing the same sorts of symbols Liam had seen on his trip to the green cavern ...

He blinked and the vision was gone.

_Are they coming for me?_

"Come on," Gibson said, pushing himself upright. "What's the hold up?"

Liam decided to say nothing about his vision. Until rescue arrived what was the point of getting his hopes up?

Then, another worry hit him.

_How will they find us?_

If he could see through Doggett's eyes, perhaps Doggett could see through his. What advice did they give lost people?

_We should stay where we are._

Liam was studying their options when they heard it: the unmistakable stamp of boots running in unison along the ring path.

Instinct kicked in. Liam flicked off the flashlight.

It might make sense to stay in the dead end, but there was nothing to offer any cover and if they were found they'd be trapped.

"This way," Liam whispered, grabbing Gibson by a bandaged wrist and not caring about the man's hiss of pain.

Retracing their steps back to the center was the best choice. The passageway was clear. They could use the wall to guide them without the use of Flashlight. And the soldiers were already on the ring corridor. Chances are they'd stay on it ...

They hadn't gone far—the bootsteps still beat a warning—when Liam's fingers brushed over indents in the metal wall. An idea formed, and when he felt them again, he pulled Gibson to a stop.

Whipping out the flashlight, he turned the beam on the wall. He stared at the symbol in front of him, branding it onto his retinas and praying it would take them to safety.

"Get ready," he said by way of warning. The elevator funnel rose almost instantly, and this time its sensation was definite. Liam's stomach dropped the way it did whenever he jumped from a good height.

Liam flicked Flashlight around to check they were still alone.

They were on another straight corridor. A line of pulsating lights at his feet seemed to be suggesting a direction. Go this way, they seemed to say.

"You okay?" Gibson tugged Liam's sweater sleeve.

"Just ... need a ... moment."

They'd left the boot steps behind but other sounds filled the corridor.

His heart jumped when the darkness cracked. "Gibson?"

"Yeah?"

"We don't have time."

"No, we don't," his companion agreed. "There's more out there. I can't tell where."

The blinking lights kept beckoning.

"Behind us," Gibson said.

The choice was made for them. Liam pulled Gibson forward, following the lights which led them forward at a desperate pace. It turned them around a corner—onto a ring passageway.

The curve of the wall under his hand registered to Liam. And the slipping of his feet on the floor. He wasn't playing this time.

Whatever was behind them was moving at pace.

The guide lights ran into a green glow creeping around the curve. Stinging smoke burned Liam's lungs and got into his eyes. The echo of clangs and crashes and human grunts reverberated ahead of them—and they were running right into it. He slowed to a fast walk.

_Are we surrounded?_

"What's ahead?" Gibson asked.

The edge of a railing appeared around the sweeping hall. The guide lights stopped moving. The final light blinked in one spot.

"Fighting. In the pod chamber."

Liam hugged the side of the wall and peered over, hoping like hell he was just a tiny speck to anyone looking up.

Even through the haze he could see the destruction. The pods had been decimated. Dust shimmered in the chamber. As he watched, a power sound whirred up. The whine started low and built up until it discharged—and a pod in front of him exploded in a rain of wispy ash.

The metal rods were striped bare like bones. The rod above him shook and rotated, moving like a slow carnival ride. The new rod which took its place was also completely empty.

"The pods," he whispered. "They're destroying them."

"Who?"

"You tell me." A shadow flittered against the wall far below him. When he looked, Liam saw no one, but the sound of fighting carried.

"I think they've moved to the other side."

Still looking over the rail, Liam saw something else which interested him. He risked leaning out some more. About six feet below the rail was a ledge wide enough for three, maybe four people to sit on. By himself, the climb would be nothing ... he glanced at Gibson.

"Do you think you can do some climbing?"

"What?"

"There's a ledge just below us. If we go over the rail it should be a short drop ... but I'm not sure I can hold you. You'll have to do it yourself."

"Do we have much choice?"

Liam guided Gibson to the rail. He hated doing it, but he grabbed Gibson's bandaged arms around the wrists as the man rolled his body over. The burnt skin on Gibson's cheeks scrunched.

"My feet aren't touching anything ..."

Liam took another look. "You're nearly there—just a foot more—I swear."

An odd smile twisted on Gibson's face. "Gotta trust someone one day. Okay. Let go."

His hands, which had gripped the rail for dear life, slid down with no hesitation.

He landed with an "oof."

"The ledge is about four feet long and maybe two feet wide," Liam said. "Keep your back against the wall and don't go near the edge."

Gibson grunted but kept his hands on the wall as he lowered himself. He extended a leg, testing for the drop with it. He pulled it back sharply when his foot went into space.

With no time to find a better solution, Liam tucked Flashlight and Waterbottle into his waistband and swung himself over the rail.

He knew it wasn't far too fall, but the sensation of his feet dangling was unpleasant. What had it been like for Gibson who still couldn't see?

The landing jarred. Liam took a moment for the tingling in his feet to disappear, then he eased himself around to face the chamber.

The distant clash of fighting echoed, but the space below them was still. A movement at the base of the column in the center caught his eye. A soldier was guarding it. The soldier kept a slow patrol, disappearing around the other side with no sign it was aware of the two humans sitting high above.

Liam's racing heart slowed. The ledge was sturdy. A familiar jerk sent a flutter through his body as the ship shivered, but the movement couldn't dislodge them.

Gibson received Waterbottle with a sigh.

"We'll get out of this," he said, wiping a bandaged hand across his mouth. "This shaking means something."

"Do you think the virus which affected Doggett has worked? Does that mean"—Liam nearly grabbed Gibson's arm in excitement—"could that mean we're winning?"

Gibson chewed on his lip. "Winning?"

A whole world of thought opened up to Liam. "Between that vaccine and the defective pods we might have done enough."

He explained how he had watched a pod explode when he was taken to the round room and he described the way the woman had pointed to her arm. "She was telling me the vaccine had made the pods defective. I'll bet the clones in those pods came from people who had had the vaccine. That would mean—"

The vaccine worked.

A yell from below alerted Liam to more action.

"Two more soldiers just appeared below," he told Gibson.

"I can hear their thoughts. They aim to destroy—but are they destroying because they know these clones are all defective or for some other reason?."

From his perch Liam watched as the male and female soldiers thumbed devices in their hands. The room picked up the high-pitched whirring he'd heard before and in a matter of seconds four more pods exploded, blasting ash into the chamber.

The male soldier ran to the black column and stood before it as though he was trying to open it.

More soldiers swarmed around the column, coming from the side Liam couldn't see. A yell went up when they saw the man.

"I don't think they're all working together."

The man was surrounded; the woman turned to run back to the edge of the chamber. Her escape was cut off by soldiers who appeared on the outer ring.

Stopped in her tracks, the woman lost her footing and toppled into the goo. Her arms flailed as she was sucked into the mass. But the goo didn't incapacitate her, and the depth of it wasn't as great as Liam had imagined. The woman rose to her feet—the goo came to her thighs.

"Nasty," Gibson muttered. "Did someone fall in? They're burning."

The woman did not scream, but when she pulled herself onto the platform, the legs of her fatigues were gone and her skin looked burnt—even from a distance. She changed direction, running to her comrade who had fallen to his knees but was still trying to fight off the other soldiers. One pulled him to his feet and held him in place. Another stepped forward—and in one swift motion sliced off the man's head with his hand.

Liam's nightmare of flying heads was brought to life.

It wasn't just the soldier's head. The defenders fell upon his body, tearing it to pieces with no passion and dumping the parts in the goo. The woman must have known what her fate would be, but she didn't stop, rushing right into the grasp of the other soldiers.

Liam closed his eyes.

"Whatever that stuff below is," he said, "it kills them. I don't think they can reform."

"It means death."

"And life."

Something in the goo had been feeding the pods. The vines from the green soup went into the pods, feeding the supersoldier clones growing in them.

The responsibility of growing up on a farm weighed on Liam. But you could justify life and death on a farm. At least, that's what he used to think. Now he wasn't so sure.

Moments ticked by and Liam suffered as new thoughts entered his thinking.

The defending soldiers retreated, leaving the chamber empty except for the sentry.

The section of the chamber below them was now empty. Their biggest threat would now come from the spiral path.

As if he had willed them into existence, footsteps thundered above them.

Liam pulled his knees up wishing he could make himself invisible. All it would take was one curious soldier to check over the rail.

_Don't look. Just keep moving._

He got his wish. The boots plowed on, continuing down the corridor.

He let out a heavy breath. "I think they've moved—"

Before he could finish, an object landed with a thud between them. Liam looked up to see a green witch's face leering at him.

He was staring into the eyes of one of his captors—the woman who had taken him to the pod chamber. Light from the chamber reflected off her face.


	38. Chapter 38

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

The woman spoke before Liam had time to react.

"Stay here. When the way is clear I will get you." She didn't wait for his reply. "This place is not safe for you."

"Liam?" Gibson reached out, his hand colliding with the bundle between them.

Liam looked down at the bag in surprise. It was his backpack. The one they had removed after he arrived. "I don't understand."

"She wants to help you," Gibson said. "She's genuinely worried about you."

Liam stared up at the woman.

"Stay here," she said. Then she disappeared.

Liam unzipped the bag. His sneakers sat on top. He pulled them on his feet, only belatedly feeling bad that Gibson still had bare feet. It was warm in the pod chamber, but still ...

"She gave you your bag?" Gibson pushed himself up, intensity in his voice. "Give it to me."

Liam passed the bag into Gibson's grasp. Gibson didn't need sight to know what he was searching for. He put his bandaged hand in and whooped.

"Tell me that's the extractor," he said. "Check it. See if it still works."

Liam did as he was asked, finding the on switch and pressing it. Its tiny LCD screen lit up.

"It's going, but the battery icon is flashing."

"It'll have to do. There should be a menu on the screen."

Gibson talked him through setting the device, which involved tapping the screen and selecting some numbers. "No time to get to one hundred. Fifty percent will have to do."

He hurried Liam through the instructions. "Do you see a small button on the bottom edge? Press it in and slide it to the side."

A long thin needle popped onto Liam's palm.

"What now?"

"Stick it in between your ribs."

Liam froze. "What?"

"I need something from your blood," Gibson said.

_The nanobots._

"Jab the needle in and press the button at the top. Hurry, Liam. The battery's running out."

Gibson wasn't joking. And from his tone, he wasn't expecting any argument.

Bad enough they were stuck on a narrow ledge on a shaking ship. Liam felt trapped.

The point of the needle hovered over his side. He touched the tip to his flash, drawing his hand back. He couldn't do this, no matter what Gibson said.

"The longer you wait, the more I suffer."

With an angry cry Liam poked the needle into his skin and smacked down on the depressor. He hissed as it went in, made a face, and hit the button.

"When it beeps, take it out and put it back in the extractor."

Liam gritted his teeth, unwilling even to ask the question. Numbers started turning in his head. He got as far as ten when the needle emitted a shriek which made Liam lean over to check the sentry far below them.

"Did you put it back in the extractor?"

"Yes," Liam said as he popped it in. The icon was still blinking and the device buzzed into action, but when the screen went blank he panicked.

"It's dead." He thumbed the power button again.

"Can you pop the needle out?"

Liam's fingers fumbled at the bottom of the device. He held his breath until the needle was ejected into his hand again. "Yes."

"I need an injection. Between ribs."

"I don't—"

"Now, god damn it."

Liam did as he was asked.

Gibson sighed and leaned back. "Thank you."

"What now?"

"Give it a few minutes."

They sat unmoving. The sounds of fighting below had died down. The empty rods on a level with them rotated forlornly. Every three or four minutes they swung around one section. Other levels had stopped altogether. Sparks hissed in some places.

"They must have just about destroyed them all," Liam said. "What do you think it means?"

"There's a lot of anger. There's division." Gibson exhaled. "The bots—I can feel them working. The pain is gone. No sight yet, but my hands ..."

He twisted around and put his arms out to Liam. "Can you undo them? From the fingers."

Plucking carefully at the ends, Liam tugged the bandages. As he unwound the strips, he exposed Gibson's fingers. The new flesh was pink and unblemished.

When both hands were freed, Gibson flexed his fingers. "It still might work," he whispered to himself. "We have a chance."

Liam tied off the strips. The healing was still working its way up Gibson's arms.

"Yeah. We're getting off this ship."

Now would be a good time to mention his vision from Doggett of Mulder and Scully. He wasn't sure what to make of the woman, but Doggett would find him. They had a connection.

"No." The way Gibson said it made Liam go tense. "I have a chance to do what I set out to do."

"But—"

"I can't do it alone. I can't see yet and I can't control the ship. Can you get me to the round room?"

"But that's—I don't want to—"

"I'm not saying you have to go in—but what if you could get me to that room?"

"It's not safe—"

"Even if it meant that it could save everyone?"

"If I go back there—"

"Just get me in. You won't have to do anything. I'll do all your sacrificing for you."

Liam stared at Gibson. "What do you mean?"

"Our original plan."

The round room. That's where Gibson asked to be taken.

Technically it was right in front of them. It might as well be on the other side of the moon.

"There's only one way I know," he said, sickening at the thought. They would have to climb over the rail and take the spiral path down.

He hated the idea. Presuming they made it down the spiral path and Liam could open the portal, they would have no idea what was awaiting them on the other side. There was still pockets of fighting below, the ship hadn't stopped shaking, and even if they made it that far, they'd still have to get across to the black column with enough time for Liam to try opening that portal. All before the guard came back.

"What if we went across?"

"Across? Across the platform? You mean climb down and get to the center path?"

"I mean go over and climb down the center column."

"You're kidding?"

"No.

"Can you see again?"

"Stabs of light in my eyes. My arms are healing. You can be my eyes."

"What do you mean 'go over'?"

"Just that." Gibson nodded to in front of them, a disconcerting movement which disturbed Liam because he knew Gibson couldn't see. "When a rod comes around this way, we can haul ourselves onto it."

"But you can't see."

"It's the only way."

"No, it's not." Climbing over the rail and taking their chances going down the spiral was sounding better by the second.

"I'm telling you I can do this. The biggest risks reap the biggest rewards."

"Or the biggest fall."

Liam wanted to argue; he wanted a better solution. The more he waited, the more he could see the benefits to Gibson's idea.

"If we're going to do this, we need to do it now before the woman comes back. She doesn't want you anywhere near that room."

-oOo-

The hardest part would be the leap. The closest rod was a foot out from the ledge. It was probably a good two feet above Liam's head, but he could compensate by climbing a little and launching himself from the wall. Liam was confident he could do it, but that wouldn't work for Gibson.

Without sight, Gibson would be safer to stand on the ledge and jump for the rod. He was taller than Liam—he wouldn't have quite so far to reach—but if he leaned out in just the wrong spot, there were no ifs about it: he'd fall.

They were about halfway down the chamber. He wouldn't survive—even if he fell in the goo—maybe especially if he fell in the goo.

Liam would have to guide verbally Gibson.

Liam studied the rod, mentally writing himself instructions: do a few practise jumps, climb yea high, stretch out, leap. Working out instructions for Gibson would be harder.

"Can we practise this?"

"What's to practise? You say jump, I jump."

Liam found grooves in the wall and pulled himself up. He twisted and looked for the rod, which was slightly to his side. That angle would give him more surface to reach for. It also meant he had a little further to jump.

It was no different to climbing trees on his farm, or descending into the cave in the desert. Or hauling himself in through the window in the office above the hangar at the camp.

_I do these things all the time._

There was no time for worry. The rods were rotating about every two minutes. He wouldn't allow himself to miss. He tightened the straps on his backpack to stop it jiggling. He lept.

His aim was true. Liam smacked into the rod with a grunt. The wool of his sweater slipped against the shiny surface. Instinct kicked in; his arms clamped, while his legs scissored in thin air. When he realised he wasn't slipping further, he breathed out and tried using his legs to swing himself up. With one heart-pounding motion, he got himself upright.

_Now for the hard part._

He couldn't let Gibson know what he was thinking. "Your turn. Easy as. Jump to my voice."

Gibson rose with determination chiseled on his face. "I see more flashes of light."

"Do you want to wait? Maybe your sight is healing."

Gibson paused before shaking his head. "She might come back. We need to go—now."

Liam knew Gibson was right. They had one chance.

"Shuffle to your left. A little more, a little—stop. That's enough."

Next he had Gibson angle himself in tiny increments so that he was as straight on to the rod as he possibly could be.

"Now, imagine you're high fiving the right hand corner of the door to the kitchen. You have to go a little bit to the side."

Liam forced himself to watch as Gibson lined himself up and tensed. It seemed he had frozen.

"Count me down—quick—before I lose my nerve."

"Three. Two. One!" they said together.

Gibson had a lopsided walk; he never looked at ease with physical pursuits. But Gibson was a fighter—and he'd scrambled up hills to reach safety five days ago.

It was that Gibson who threw himself blindly into the air.

He slammed into the rod with more force than Liam was expecting. Liam threw himself forward and wrapped his limbs around the beam.

Scrambling in the air, Gibson's legs cycled as he dangled.

"Here—I've got you." Liam grabbed Gibson's wrist.

The man calmed and concentrated, swinging a leg up just as Liam had done. Once he was secure, he panted for a minute. Then he laughed. "I whacked my chin."

When he was satisfied Gibson was balanced, Liam risked a look down.

Soldiers had moved back into their section of the chamber, but no one was focusing on the rods above them.

Liam and Gibson were up a good height, and the scene started to swim before Liam's eyes. His heart racing, he closed his eyes and leaned forward to hug the support. Usually he had no problems with his balance, but the thought of a fall today scared him.

Gibson didn't have the same problem.

Carefully they pulled themselves along the beam. Liam kept an eye on the action under them. Whispering instructions and descriptions to Gibson.

"It's hard to tell what's happening. I think they're trying to get into the round room, but something's not letting them."

It was impossible to tell what side the soldiers were on. The soldiers killed before had to be rebels. The soldiers under them now were more likely to be defenders. But as for who was winning ... the pods had been decimated.

The rebels' objective seemed to be to destroy the pods—but they had also been interested in the center pillar. Like Gibson, were they trying to get to the inner room? What did they hope to do in there? If the rebels wanted to damage the inner room, why didn't Gibson just let them do it?

"Destroying just this ship isn't the answer," Gibson said when Liam asked. "Think this is the only one?"

"I thought Jeremiah said they didn't have many?"

"He knows of six ships—on earth. But he thinks there are more. He's just not sure where."

Liam watched as another supersoldier ran up to the pillar and stared at it. He ran back to the outer wall when the sentry returned. If staring at the wall was meant to accomplish anything, Liam couldn't tell what it was, but it gave him a bad thought. "It's not working for them. What if it doesn't work for me?"

Gibson was firm. "We still have to try."

Their overhead journey to the center was slow but steady. The ship still shivered periodically, but the column and the rods seemed to be part of the central structure of the ship and remained fixed. They did have to hang on tight, and they were halfway across when their level rotated a section.

"Like being stuck on the minute hand of a clock, isn't it?" Gibson said.

As they neared the column, Liam saw a metal lattice running from top to bottom. It would be an easy matter of scaling down, with regular hand and foot holds. The casing could have been built for child's play. He described the set up to Gibson, who said his sight was full of black holes and flashing lights.

"I think this is the side the portal opens on. We'll have to wait for the guard to move."

The sentry's job seemed to involve circling the column every minute.

_Sixty seconds to find the symbol and open the door._

He was getting good at finding the void—but was he that good?

They had started the climb when Gibson whispered loudly. "Stop. Something's—"

Liam gripped the grill and twisted for a better view of the chamber. This side was still empty as far as he could see.

"Another soldier—he's joining the sentry," Gibson said. "Oh shit. There's another problem."

"What?"

"Mulder's near. I can hear his thoughts."

"On board? Is he okay?"

"He's with Doggett. He's worried about you. He doesn't know how much longer the ship's going to last."

"Seems reasonable." Liam winced as the ship hiccupped again and his fingers dug into metal.

The first sentry appeared below them. Liam prayed his thundering heart wouldn't give him away. Two soldiers cut his time in half.

The metal grill cut into his flesh as the soldier showed no sign of moving on.

_Come on, come on._

But the sentry didn't move. Liam weighed his options. He started to ease his way back up and around the column. Resting against a rod, he took off his backpack and pulled Waterbottle from it.

"Sorry. You understand, don't you? Thanks for all your help."

Liam heaved the bottle into the air, aiming it for the far end of a rod. Waterbottle hit with a little bang and splashed into the goo.

It was enough to make both sentries go running.

Liam swung down to Gibson. "Quick. Just a few more feet."

He dropped to his feet and scanned the column, looking for a symbol he could fix in his mind to open the portal. Gibson dangled a foot, and reaching the ground, let go.

"Found it." Liam grabbed Gibson, stood in front of the column and summoned an inner calm. He did it by calling up the eerie emptiness of the cell they had put him in. He pushed out the noise and screaming, and the crashing and splashing. And the wailing and metallic shrieks. He made himself remember his cell and how it had forced him to push into the corners of his mind.

He was getting good at it.

The light was already rising on the inner wall when he dragged Gibson forward into the next layer.

He pressed his palm against the next invisible barrier. The curtain of light rose past his hand—and the barrier disappeared. He pulled Gibson over the threshold—and turned in time to see figures sprinting towards them from the far side of the chamber.

"Liam!" Dr Scully rushed towards him along the narrow path. A soldier—the woman—was chasing her. More figures followed them—Doggett and Mulder.

He was torn. The supersoldier was right on Dr Scully's heels—but whatever happened he couldn't let her into the round room. It wouldn't be safe.

He willed the invisible wall to reappear. Then watched in horror as the sentries reappeared—running to intercept the doctor.

He was about to jump back into the void when he realised something: the supersoldier chasing Dr Scully overtook her—and threw herself at the sentries. She was defending Dr Scully.

Liam watched through the transparent wall as Doggett and Mulder joined the fight, leaving Dr Scully the chance to slip through and run right at Liam.

He tried to warn her, slapping the barrier to show her, but she didn't stop—and he couldn't let her in.

The collision knocked her off her feet, and she lay crumpled in a daze.

_Get up, get up._

Her hand went to her head and she looked up at Liam, fear in her eyes.

He knew what she was trying to tell him.

"Sorry," he mouthed.

"Liam—" Gibson was halfway across the floor but less surefooted now he had no frame of reference. "Help me find it."

The fight raged around Dr Scully but didn't touch her. Nothing could tear her gaze away from him. She crawled to the invisible wall. She pounded the glass.

Liam turned.


	39. Chapter 39

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

"This room is alive."

Gibson stood before the pillar. Nothing moved beneath its surface although a glow had fired up in it.

Liam didn't need to ask what had prompted Gibson's proclamation. He'd almost be willing to swear the room was breathing and he kept looking to his feet to catch the strange pitted floor in exhalation.

"I'm ready to talk," Gibson murmured, pressing his palms to the pillar. "You might not like what I have to say. Help me, Liam."

He wanted to find the hand.

"You can wake it up. Let it know I'm here. You open yourself to it—that's how you do it."

Liam swallowed his protest. The explanation made disturbing sense and to test the theory he slipped into the disembodied state he needed, concentrating on the glassy pillar in front of them.

Beneath the surface, clouds formed and teemed and raced. A shadow flitted deep within the crystal structure.

Before he could speak, a dark shape sprang at them, slamming against the thin shell barrier.

Fingers spread against the inside of the column—and against the void Liam had created within himself. Instead of tearing a way out of a cocoon—like the clone supersoldier—this was something clawing its way in.

Liam tensed up, preparing to defend himself.

The skin on Gibson's cheeks had healed, but his eyes still looked unfocused and he gave no sign he saw what was in front of him.

He didn't need sight.

With spooky accuracy he pressed his index finger to the index finger in front of him. "This is what you want, isn't it? You think you're the hand of God."

Within the pillar, dark clouds whipped around, projecting ripples onto the outer wall and making it seem the room was spinning.

The storm obscured all but the sharp lines of the hand at its edge. Even they disappeared as the surface started to lose definition—lost in a hazy glow.

It was becoming hard to see where Gibson ended and the pillar started.

"Gibson, I don't like this—"

"Stay back, Liam." Gibson strained with effort. "Get gone." Sweat, strangely, dribbled from his hand down the new pink flesh on his forearm, dripping to the floor and disappearing into the tiny carved marks.

Gibson pressed against the alien fingertip—and it pressed back.

A movement caught Liam's eye. The doctor was on her feet, pushing against the round wall.

 _Don't come in_ , he thought at her, hoping she would pick up his message.

A smell—like the desert after a rainstorm—began to pervade the room. Ozone. Liam turned back. A sheen rolled in waves across the pillar.

"See?" Gibson said to the hand, "this time I can do it—and you'll want to hear what I have to say."

Slowly he drew his hand back, enticing the finger and never breaking contact. The bony hand emerged from the maelstrom.

It was the only part of the room not turning.

There was little point questioning it. The ship was somehow both metal and life.

The tip of Gibson's finger glowed brilliant scarlet. His face betrayed nothing. The strain had melted away and he smiled.

And he sprang.

He grabbed the hand with a snarl, crushing it in both of his. "I've got a message for you."

He pulled.

The room shrieked.

Around them tiny barbs rose like angry bees.

"Gibson!" When Liam tried to step forward, the barbs swarmed around his knees. He flailed at them, getting oily smudges on his clothes and skin, but they held him fast. He grabbed air as he tried to reach for Gibson.

Gibson's arm was incandescent. Agony shone in sweat pouring off his forehead.

"Gibson! Let go!"

"Leave!" Gibson refused to release his death grip.

"You're on fire!"

Flames burst from the backs of his hands. Yet still he pulled. "Need more ti—"

One second he was there—then the pillar flared.

Liam dropped to the floor as hot air lifted the hair off his scalp. He waited for the white noise buzz in his ears to die before he looked up. Dust shimmered in the air.

The hand was still there, poking from the pillar. Hanging with dejection.

Was it upset? Gibson had wanted to destroy the Grays. Shouldn't it be gloating?

The tiny ink guards sank to the floor and slipped down the carved grooves, leaving Liam alone with the hand.

He glanced over his shoulder. The doctor looked at him helplessly from behind the barrier, which crackled with shorting electricity. Beyond her, tumbling shadows fell. Was the chamber breaking up now too? The world was coming down around them.

He pushed himself up, feeling the heat in the room build. It had nowhere to go. The pillar was still pulsating. It could flash over again.

He needed to find a way to turn it off before it destroyed the whole ship—or they'd never escape.

He tried opening himself by summoning the emptiness. A feeling of expectancy flooded him. He couldn't push it away and he couldn't shut it off. The ship demanded something from him and now that it had him it wouldn't let him leave.

_Do I have to give it what it wants?_

Gibson hadn't offered friendship. He had had a message for the Grays. The nanobots had given him superhuman healing. He had hoped that would be enough for him to survive passing the message on.

But what was the message? And who was sending it?

_Who sends messages, Liam?_

The mystery person who had helped them escape their farm. Who had sent them Garrett de Rosier and his friends. Who had guided them to Old Hachita. The watcher who knew things. Esther.

Where was Esther now? Liam raised his hands, absorbed in the lines on his palms and fingers. Hands that were the genetic gift of his biological parents—and the amazing care of his mom and dad.

The alien hand was alive. Was the ship enslaved to the Grays—or the Grays to the ship? Were they one and the same?

Liam had no message to share. He had something else. A gift supposedly taken from him. That the Grays were going to give back.

Dimly he was aware of the doctor hammering her fists on the wall behind him. She was safe, behind the strange glass. Safe for now. Nowhere was truly safe.

Gibson had been trying to hurt the Grays.

"That's not what you're for," Liam said to his hands.

If ending it was as easy as giving them—the Grays and Gibson—what they wanted, he had no reason to deny them. Not when it meant a way of saving everyone else too.

He understood why Dr Scully might be upset. Why his parents would be sad. But maybe he could save them all.

Gibson had tried his damnedest—but Gibson hadn't been born for this task.

The glow from the pillar was so bright Liam could almost see through his own skin. It didn't hurt.

"That's not what you want, is it?"

He stood before the pillar, centered himself and put himself inside the void.

He reached out with his mind—the same way he had in the pie-room—exploring the black edges of the mysterious space he had made. It was impossible to see in the space; he could sense its boundaries—and an awareness beyond himself. Something trying to invade him. Maintaining his own cocoon was going to take every bit of concentration he could muster.

He tapped the alien hand. If they could just meet in the middle—

A giant bolt arced from the wall, making him turn to see the doctor thrown into the air. She came down in a heap.

He waited a second, hoping to see her get up, and in that moment his concentration failed and the outside force overwhelmed him. The alien hand crushed his own and pulled him forward.

A thousand upon a thousand images hit him. And the desperation of loneliness. And relentlessness. They would never let him go and they would never stop.

He couldn't let go if he'd tried. They flooded him with everything.

The doctor screamed at the wall to get in; the voices in the pillar screamed to get out.

Liam's toes were burning. Heat spiralled up his arm from the hand which gripped his own. The grip seared into his flesh.

He held on as if his life depended on it. His only chance was to give back. He imagined his molecules flowing from all over his body, and up his arm, and unchaining the bonds in his skin, and assembling at the border. They were tough little bastards. And he would send them all.

He could see them. He told them to go.

_Heal._

For the first time in his life, he could see into himself. The molecules weren't just in his imagination. His medic molecules were real, and he could make them travel. They moved like tiny stars under his skin.

But the flow wasn't one-way. An alien chill crept into him and into his blood. A red mist in his eyes made it harder and harder to see. Not that it mattered; he was struggling to stay conscious.

He barely registered the explosion which seemed to shake the room, but he could see the protective barrier had smashed, failed, fried—whatever it did. There was nothing left to stop Dr Scully coming for him.

The alien hand went limp and a crack started to spread in the pillar.

_Is it breaking out?_

All he could think when his mind short-circuited and he was grabbed from behind was that Dr Scully had risked her life to save his for nothing.

They fell back against the bowl floor.

"You came," Liam said.

"Always," she said, pulling him close.

Liam blacked out.


	40. Chapter 40

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

Silent fireworks floated down. Showers of sparks hissed on a seething green sea. Embers came so close they might settle on his skin like fiery snowflakes. He should probably flick them away. The tip of his chin tickled as one touched.

They weren't the only things falling.

The ceiling was crumbling, slowly. Black panels plunged, knocking into the metal arms circling the room.

Liam hung in arms, jostled by the movement of running. His head rolled sideways. He could see Doggett behind them, cradling a body even as he dodged dropping debris. Dr Scully's hair had escaped from a ponytail. Blood had trickled from her nose. She looked asleep against Doggett's chest ... or worse.

_She shouldn't have come for me ..._

Through dazed eyes, Liam watched the slow motion fall of a rod behind them, feeling no surprise when it struck the grill path and made his rescuer stumble.

"Let me." Liam heard a woman's voice. She was gentle taking him from Mulder. "Follow me."

Suddenly she and Liam were soaring as she leapt across a section of broken path.

The translucent bodies below seemed to stare up in open-mouthed dead horror.

"Shit," he heard behind them over the squeal of another rod crashing into the platform between Mulder and Doggett. "Jump, Mulder!"

Liam lifted heavy eyelids to observe.

With little room for a run up, Mulder threw himself across the broken causeway. His feet came down on the very lip of the outer ring. The woman shot out her hand before he could slip. Mulder was safe with Liam and the woman ... but the path had run out for Doggett.

Already weakened, the metal grill started to buckle and tip, ejecting the supersoldier—the doctor still in his arms—into the green pool. He stayed upright, raising her over his head, keeping her from the splash.

"Doggett!"

The supersoldier waded through the substance, ignoring the smoke that poured off his thighs, tendons straining in his neck as he forced himself forward.

 _How's he doing that?_ Liam's thought was idle and disengaged from feeling. That other woman, earlier, had survived her dip in the green. How long had she lasted? Long enough to pull herself out.

"Come on, come on." Mulder fretted at the edge, reaching for Dr Scully even before Doggett was close enough to pass her to him.

Doggett heaved himself onto the platform, his fatigues in slimy tatters. Wordlessly he took the doctor back from Mulder, rolling her over his shoulder.

The platform at their feet dipped, bowing under their weight. The destruction in the chamber was destabilizing its supports.

"Do we climb?" Mulder was frantic, testing for handholds.

 _What would be the point?_ Liam thought with detachment. _The sides of the chamber are peeling away._

It was like the wall was having a bad case of blistering sunburn.

"This way." The woman was facing the wall.

Liam blinked. The tiny guide lights were back. Winking at him. Pointing for him. The woman seemed to be following them too. A wide portal flared into existence. The little lights blipped ahead of them on the downward path. The black tunnel ended in a tiny square of gray light.

The shaking ship threw them sideways. Nothing was falling here, but the woman was struggling to stay upright. She copied Doggett and hoisted Liam over her shoulder. Doggett, carrying the doctor, and Mulder were scant steps behind. The green glow from the chamber disappeared as the portal cut out.

The cold in the tunnel hit Liam with an involuntary shiver.

The woman's legs got faster and faster as she found her feet against the shuddering, and the gray square got bigger and bigger. Suddenly the lights ran out.

The woman came to a skidding halt. The steel caps of her boots poked out over empty space. Liam could see little but swirling smoke and dots of bright flame far below. The ship was hovering over a field of fire. Liam had no time to be afraid.

She wrapped her arms against him. "Close your eyes."

Air rushed against his face and his stomach dropped. She had leapt into the freezing night with him in her arms.

She hit the ground in a crouch, her knees driven into the ground. Liam bit his cheeks; the force of the collision went through him. The pain was fleeting. A dark shape landed with a thump beside them. The doctor still lay across Doggett's arms, protected from the fall.

Doggett set her down and staggered to his feet. Acid from the green goo had eaten into the flesh on his legs. He wobbled a moment or two, then staggered sideways.

A blast overhead made the ground throb.

They looked up.

The sky was split in two. A great black circle above them was swallowing the moon and stars.

Smoke curled at its edges. The sky was shot with starlight. But the underside of the saucer devoured light like a black hole. Against its side, through the wisps, moonlight struck a tiny shape wriggling on the edge.

"Mulder! Let go!" Doggett shouted.

Liam felt himself be laid against the chilled earth beside the doctor as the supersoldiers rose.

"Let go."

Mulder fell with a yell.

Liam couldn't watch. He heard the soldiers grunt. He opened his eyes to see Mulder in a sprawled heap between them. He was alive.

Liam rolled to his side to check the doctor. Blood rolled from her nose and forehead. Her hand lay next to her cheek and he reached out to touch it.

Smoke got in his nostrils and Liam began to cough.

"We have to move." The woman was up already. She gathered Liam into her arms again. "Hold your breath."

He could hear rather than see the fire. Bushes crackled in the wildfire blaze. The body carrying him started to pant.

"Run," Doggett yelled from behind them.

Liam looked up.

The ship was wobbling in the sky. Dense thick clouds poured from it, and in its center, a bubble of green light was swelling.

He knew what was going to happen. Their only way to outrun the destruction of the ship was to run through the flames—or find cover and hope for the best.

The soldiers carried them precious yards into a hollow where they put Dr Scully and Liam down. Doggett reached out and pulled Mulder in.

"Curl up. As small as you can," he said while he and the woman stood over them.

The ground was a maze of flames, but even if they could escape, there was no getting away from the ship. The expanding bubble looked ready to burst.

"Get down!" the woman said, as she and Doggett made a futile attempt to shield the humans.

Liam wasn't afraid for himself. It wouldn't hurt him, but Mulder and Scully would never survive this—even under the shelter of the supersoldiers. He grabbed their hands, squeezed his eyes shut and prayed his grasp would be enough.

He hadn't been able to save Gibson or the Grays, he reminded himself, even as he sought the empty space the pie-room had taught him. Perhaps he could use it to create a physical barrier around them? He pushed the void out, imagining it enveloping them.

That was all the time he had to think.

The ship exploded in a pulse, its percussion blowing Doggett and the woman away. Liam felt it go through him, felt it batter his focus. But he held on and he held tight, and the worst of it seemed to pass right over him.

When the noise subsided, he checked the sky. It was clear—no sign of the saucer at all. Liam shifted to check Dr Scully. Her eyes were glassy and unseeing.

He scrambled to his knees.

"Dr Scully? Dr Scully?! Scully!"

He shook her shoulder.

She was still.

"No no NO!"

He let the nothingness fill him—and he didn't hold back. He smashed through the skin of the cocoon. A furious wind screamed in his head as he was flooded with a thousand minds. The invasion was ten times worse than before. It took all his strength to brace himself against the onslaught.

A dog barked, getting closer. Then came cries, far away.

He heard Mulder's voice outside, felt weak tugging on his arm. Mulder was trying to rise, trying to scoop Scully up but was stuck in the dirt. Liam could do nothing to help him. He couldn't fight on both fronts.

He had to find a way to control the thoughts, had to make them obey. Frustration made him yell into the void. "Silence!"

They stopped. Instantly. Each thought like a tiny bubble suspended in the air. Waiting for his command. If he told them to dance, they would.

A cold nose pressed against his neck and Sal's raspy tongue left a cool slick on his nose.

Beyond him a powerful voice called out.

"Over here. Sal's found more. Quick—the fire—"

Arms went around him, lifting him.

 _No, Dad._ He couldn't get the words out. He struggled to be put down.

"Liam, it's me—"

"No!"

Liam dropped from his father's grasp. He heard a scuffle and turned to see Doggett restraining his father.

Harry van de Kamp growled. "What are you do—?"

"I'm sorry," Doggett said. "He's commanding me. I can't break free. Liam—"

Harry was caught in an iron grip.

Liam turned away, clutching at Scully, squeezing her hand. He found the void, and the hole he'd punched. The thought bubbles hadn't moved. They were waiting for him. He dived in, reaching out for her—sensing his way in darkness.

He went beyond.

He looked for, and found, molecules. In the air, in the ground, and finally, in her.

It was her weariness he found. Tired cells refusing to give in, unaware she had already fallen.

It didn't take long to find the cause of her illness. A noxious growth pressed into her brain—he was so close he could see the serial number of a manufactured evil.

But unless he could speed up the crawling blood in her veins, she wouldn't survive long enough for him to attack it.

He wanted to cry when he reached her heart. It beat—just—in spite of itself. It flailed and fought a battle it had no hope of winning. He circled it, studying it for the problem.

When he found it, he froze. He felt his own heart break. Right through Dr Scully's heart a hairline crack ran. Its edges were so sharp it had to be an old wound, yet it still looked raw. All the nanobots and all his medic cells could not restore this to what it had been.

He threw himself into soothing it. The fracture would never heal completely, but if he could ease the pain ...

His best wasn't good enough. The heart slowed.

He could command the universe if he wanted for all the good it would do. This wasn't a physical wound. This was something else. Molecules would never heal it.

_What can I do?_

Images popped into his mind. Flashlight turning in his hands; Ellie's face close to his as they read from _Ender's Game_ ; Dr Scully rocking on the sofa in that house in Wamsutter; catching a tiny tadpole on a perfect summer day ...

The answer hit Liam like lightning.

_Memories. You need memories. Here—take mine!_

He'd had a lot of time to think about the past these past few days. And there was still that unsettling feeling someone else had been going through them too. He couldn't worry about that now. He needed good memories; his first day of school, Christmas mornings; winning a race at school; hitting a homerun; stalking his mother around the garden with a wooden horse and a water pistol; 'helping' Stan roundup steers; building a home for Jerry with Mulder. He summoned memories of feelings and gave them all to her.

Her heart was still.

It had nothing left to give.

He was too late.

He had been too late for Jerry, and now—again—he was too late.

Rage exploded in him. He turned back to the cancer.

_You did this._

Savage, he tore it apart molecule by molecule. Banishing each one. When the ugly mass had been obliterated Liam draw himself back to the surface. To scream or vent or somehow rid himself of feelings threatening to overwhelm him.

Mulder was sitting across from him, bowed over Scully.

"Mulder."

Mulder lifted his blank face but didn't struggle when Liam took his hand.

They had given him life, these two people. They had wrapped his life in care and protection from afar. They had done so much—had been beaten and bruised but still fought on.

 _Let_ me _fight for you._

One more time Liam dived into the void. Molecules all around him seemed to shiver and dance. The rage wasn't in him—he was in it. Energy flowed through him. He used it. He sent his fist into the rage like it was an inferno and he had no fear.

And suddenly the sound of a heartbeat rang in his head. He had to shield himself from a flash of light as bright as the ship exploding.

He came to with a shock.

He was staring into Scully's eyes.

She was smiling.

He heard his name again.

"Liam," Marie said as she pulled him into a ferocious hug, "We have to go."

The walls of flame licked around them.

"Liam," Doggett said, a note of pleading in his voice. The supersoldier still had Harry pinned.

The void was still open in Liam. He couldn't leave without taking care of the tiny thoughts hovering around him.

"Be free," he whispered as he willed the void to close.

He tried to ignore a flicker of guilt. When he had closed the void, it had erupted into chaos. He felt it.

Each one of those tiny bubbles cried out at being cut off.

"Can't get rid of me that easily." Doggett pulled Liam to his feet. His parents were helping Mulder and Scully.

"Can you stand?"

"Think so." His body felt weighted down, while his head was floating away. He needed a moment to find his legs, but they couldn't stay here. Not with the fire.

"Good. Get moving."

His mother made Scully lean on her as Sal led them through the burning maze. When a narrow gap opened up, she used her hand to brush aside a burning branch to widen it.

" _'Parents who would walk through fire'—"_

 _"_ What?"

"Something Gibson said. Doggett?" A wave of fatigue hit Liam before he sank one more time into oblivion.

_I've got to stop—_


	41. Chapter 41

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

Darkness held him down. Distant voices sailed far overhead—" _fan out_ " ... " _scour the site_ " ... " _over here._ " The lines floated above him. He tried snatching at one, but it floated off into a pool of murmurs.

His body ached all over. A bulky layer with hard lumps held him down; it also cushioned him and wrapped him in warmth. He guessed it was a coat and he snuggled deeper, ignoring a tickle around his collar.

"There's nothing on the back of his neck—"

"Marie—your hand! Let me see."

"It's nothing, Dana. Stop fussing."

"At least let me—"

"No, I said. It's not important right now."

"Liam's going to be okay—"

"He was barely breathing!"

"His breathing is back to normal—he just needed—"

"What if they did something to him on the ship?"

"Nothing hap—"

"I know who he is."

The truth sank like a pebble dropped in a still pond. Only the crackle of the fire dared sound. That and the faraway susurration of low voices.

_Susurration ... Is that a word? Do I know it? Ellie will know ..._

"I know about him, about you," Marie said. "For goodness sake! We're surrounded by supersoldiers. I _know_ why."

His Wyoming mother was a farmer. A teacher. An excellent cake baker.

She was no fool.

Liam filled with pride.

And fear.

_She knows what I am._

He squeezed his eyelids tighter. She was his mother. She would love him in spite of everything, wouldn't she? But Dr Scully had been his mother once, too.

The doctor drew in a breath. "Marie—"

His mother made a noise of disgust. "What does it matter? It's over. We have him back."

"There may still—"

"Don't, Dana. I don't want to hear it. Not from you. Not now."

"You know you have questions—and I know you're angry—"

"Oh, I'm angry"—Marie wasn't softening any emotion—"I'm wild as hell. But right now, I'm so angry I don't want to talk about it."

As good as her word, she fell silent and Dr Scully didn't push. It was like the day they met, after Dr Scully pulled the gun out. Liam remembered the discomfort of the hours they spent together in the car.

Maybe his mother was remembering too. She sighed as if she was giving in. " _Why_ was he on that ship?"

A beat passed.

"You know why."

"I need to hear you say it."

A branch snapped and Dr Scully's tone became brisk. "There you are. Sit down, Mulder. I can't look at your ankle while you keep hobbling around."

Clothes rustled as someone (presumably Mulder) sat.

"Where is Harry, Marie? We have to be ready—"

"The swelling's not too bad—"

"Jeez, Scully, was that necessary? It was fine until you poked it—"

"Harry went with Rudi to join the search," Marie said, answering his question.

"That flash in the sky won't have been missed. It's best if"—Mulder paused—" _certain_ people aren't found here."

"But the ship is gone. Everyone made it off, even the supersoldiers are free—Doggett said. It's over. Isn't it?"

"We don't know for sure. Not yet," Mulder said. "There's a vehicle waiting about half a mile west, but we'll have to walk to reach it—"

"What? Everyone?"

"That's not possible, unfortunately. But with just a few of us, we ought to be able to get Liam out before the military turns up."

"Just—just stop." Marie's voice grew steady as she collected herself. "We can't keep going on like this. It's no way to raise a child. Nobody needs to know about Liam. Gibson used him to get the nanobots on the ship is all. They don't have to find out about—about the rest of it—"

Mulder cut her off. "Please be careful saying that aloud. There are still people who—" Hesitation carried the weight of his warning. "It's safest if no one links Liam to the nanobots ... I don't know if we can keep his connection to the supersoldiers secret."

"What connection? There is no connection. It's over. He's free. Doggett told me."

"Do you want to take the chance?"

"This again," Marie said in frustration. "How can we protect him if you won't tell us everything?"

Relief poured into Liam's heart. It was the best feeling in the world. She knew who he was and she still loved him.

Marie waited for Mulder's answer. When she got nothing, she drew a metaphorical line in the sand. "It stops here. No more running."

There was no mention of Esther; his mother couldn't know the name.

Liam had always wondered who Mulder's mysterious contact was. Now it seemed the real question should be _what_ was she? She wasn't a nanobot—but she could live in nanobots. What could live in nanobots?

Mulder didn't mention her, but she was somehow key to Gibson's plan. If she had been in the nanobots, where was she now?

"Gibson put a virus in my son," Marie said. "How could he do something so reckless? How can you not be wild about this?"

Her emphasis was impossible to miss.

Mulder said quietly, "Gibson knew it wouldn't hurt Liam."

"That's it? That's your defence? And you, Dana! We've spent months together—you never said a word. You treated my son without permission. How dare you?" After a moment, Marie regained some of her calm. "What was the virus for? To destroy the ship? Destroy them?"

"We discussed that possibility," Mulder said. "Even after all they've done, it didn't seem right."

"One genocide is no better than another?"

"Gibson believed we could take control of the ship. From there we hoped they could be reasoned with."

"But the ship is gone. Where did it go? And what happened to Gibson?"

There was little point staying quiet anymore—although Liam didn't like what he had to say. He struggled to sit up. "He's gone too."

He resurfaced to dancing flames and, beyond them, the worried faces his mother and Dr Scully and Mulder. High in the sky a silvery half moon shone. It lit up shimmering smoke rising off the gray scape of the desert. The air tasted of hot metal.

Dr Scully went back to binding a white bandage around Mulder's ankle. "You don't have to tell us everything, Liam."

He knew why she said it, yet she was wrong. As awful as it was, he _did_ have to say it. He had one way to honor Gibson: the truth.

He pushed himself up, straining with the effort and shivering when his coat shifted and cold air rushed in. His body had never felt so beaten.

Yet the pain was satisfying. It took only a glance to see how rejuvenated Dr Scully looked to know he had no regrets. The sickness in her was gone—and it would never return.

Light from the fire reflected on both of them—Mulder and Dr Scully, their faces tinged orange by the flames. There was almost something peaceful about Dr Scully's smile.

Liam didn't have her red hair or his dark brown, there was something in the shape of his eyes and jaw and her ears.

Shock derailed his thoughts and he had to blink and pull himself back.

"Gibson was trying to transfer the nanobots into the ship. He was trying to communicate with them. He reached out to them. One second he was there, then it got too hot. I think he was incinerated—"

Marie gasped. "Did you see this, Liam?'

Dr Scully _did_ jump in this time. "No one could have seen anything—it was too bright. That's when the ship started coming apart. We grabbed Liam and escaped."

Liam shot her a look. She was cutting out a chunk of the story.

His mother knelt beside him. "How are you feeling, Lee? You gave us a scare. Can you tell us what else happened?"

It wasn't his abduction or the escape which had tired him. Curing Dr Scully had left him exhausted, but he wasn't sure how to explain what he had done—and he wasn't the one they needed to talk about.

"They burnt Gibson's face, Mom. He couldn't see. We used the nanobots to heal his arms, but then he needed to get somewhere in the ship. I had to help him."

Dr Scully looked around. "Maybe it would be best if we talked about this when we get away from this place?"

Liam twisted in surprise. A long chain of people had washed up on a low slope. He couldn't count them all. They huddled along a broken line of flames, on the edge of a giant scorched circle. They were keeping themselves warm with fire dragged from the desert.

Within the circle, where haphazard dots burned like coals in a fire pit, figures combed between glowing pockets.

The air stank and the ground was scarred ... but something was missing and it tugged at Liam's subconscious, drawing his gaze to a group of people he hadn't immediately noticed, just down slope from him.

In two crisply formed blocks, men and women sat with hands laced at the backs of their heads. There was no fire for them. The light of the moon betrayed the camouflage patterns on their uniforms.

The sound of static made Liam's head spin. A detuned TV buzzing in his ears.

He blinked several times, calling on the inner silence he had learned on the ship. It seemed to work, and the white noise faded into the background. It wasn't completely gone—if he pushed himself to his limits the buzzing was just on the other side. Just waiting for him to let them in again.

Several guides Liam recognized from the camp were posted around the edges of the supersoldier group. They stood, shotguns at the ready.

Only two broke the line. A woman and a man. The woman's hair was pulled back in a braid and the legs of the man's fatigues were shredded. The man circled the two blocks and spoke to the guards. Then he moved towards Liam, stopping just yards in front of him.

Doggett dipped his head in a formal nod, the intensity of his hawkish stare forcing Liam to look away.

Liam found himself studying the other people. Had they all been on the ship? Who had rescued them?

Under the strong moonlight he could see rumples in suits, women in t-shirts and skirts clutching at their arms for warmth. Even some in nightwear. Few were dressed for a night outdoors.

There was no snow on the ground, but it was chilly. Liam was pressed into his coat, which had a fluffy lining. Not everyone was so lucky.

He watched Mrs Scully, Mrs Fawbert and Shu weave their way through the groups handing out items: blankets, sweaters, towels—whatever might work for an extra layer.

A woman he didn't recognise with a phone, a notepad and a pen bobbed through the crowd, pausing briefly to speak to people.

As he watched he became aware of an uncomfortable sensation. He stood up, feeling the cold through his sneakers.

"Liam—"

"Nature calls, Mom."

Two old friends emerged from the field.

"We'll keep him out of trouble, Marie," Toby said.

"Don't let him out of your sight."

Alan grinned at him and as they led him over the hill, he nudged Liam. "Rumor says you've been off playing space invaders."

Toby laughed. "You always did have the best adventures."

They stopped on the other side of a clump of bushes.

"Sorry about the facilities," Alan said.

Liam turned his back. "Compared to the ship this is pretty good."

"You say that now. Try it again in a couple of hours ... this may make me a traitor, but I can't wait for the army to get here."

Toby blew on his fingers to ward off the cold. "We didn't exactly plan on hosting a rescue party."

His business finished, it took Liam several moments to get what they were saying. "Who are all these people?"

"They came off the ship," Alan said. "Supersoldiers started leading them out a few hours ago. Most of them don't remember how they got there."

They stopped at the top to study the crowds.

"How _did_ everyone get here?" Liam asked.

"You don't know?"

"No one's told me anything—I just woke up."

Toby took over. "Six days ago your dad came rushing back into camp warning us that shapeshifters were on the way. Somehow Doggett already knew what was happening. He freed himself from the pit."

Liam flashed back to one of the more disturbing images he had had. "I think I know how."

"He calls it, euphemistically, reducing his body mass ..." Alan shuddered. "I guess it's a neat party trick—but I'm still not one hundred percent on how he hauled himself out with just one arm."

"He saved us," Toby said. "Four shapeshifters nearly made it in. Doggett reached the outskirts of camp, reassembled and took them all out. Then he had Mulder and Scully drive him here."

Toby sized Liam up with a knowing glance. "They didn't find you, but your dog led them to your mom."

"Wow." Liam felt another seismic shift in his world. "So the supersoldiers are helping us now? Why are they being guarded?"

"We trust Doggett. Don't know what to make of the others. Doggett seems to think they're all free of the hive mind now. That only means they can think for themselves. Who knows what they're all thinking."

As if she had heard them, a supersoldier turned and locked eyes with Liam. Like the others, her expression was impassive. Yet there was something in her glance, a familiarity.

_I know you._

Liam had to bring himself back to the hillside. Toby was still talking.

"Doggett didn't find you at the ship, but he did meet another soldier. That's how he found out about the rebellion. The supersoldier they set free took the virus back to the ship, but it could only be spread by direct contact and because of the effect it had she had to work slowly to avoid being discovered—"

Alan broke in. "When Doggett told us what they were planning ... you know, camp's been fun, but like all good things ..."

"We decided it was time to disband. Any families left got sent off two days ago. The rest of us offered to stick around."

"Why?"

"Just a feeling. Some of us camped out in the hills. We knew the ship would uncloak at some point. It did—briefly. Made the Major go nuts. Grabbed a shotgun and fired at it. I've never seen a man so happy. Or so sad. He sat down and bawled his eyes out."

"The ship made Major Drummond cry?" Liam asked, screwing his face up. "Where is he now?"

The young scientists pointed to a lone figure on the edge of a group. It sat with its head in its hands.

"The rebellion started at sundown last night. At first we couldn't see anything. We stayed hidden in the hills. The noise told us it was starting. Not long after that, strange lights flared in the desert and supersoldiers started leading the first abductees out.

"Are they okay?"

"Some of them have very little memory of their experience. Others say they remember parking their cars months ago. We've managed to get some of them away—but there's far more than we could accommodate."

"What are they looking for?" Liam had turned his attention to the searchers in the field.

"Survivors—in case there are any more. I don't believe they've found anyone ..."

"Where is the ship?" Liam asked, suddenly realizing what seemed odd about the scene.

"Gone. One moment it was there, the next ..."

"It flew away?"

"I don't think so. Eric has people looking for debris. But there doesn't appear to be any. It's like the ship just ceased to exist."

Liam's father and Sal were out there, looking for wreckage and survivors.

"What happens now—" The question disappeared from his thoughts as he spied a familiar face. "It's Aaron!"

"Hey. Slow down."

Liam twisted to see why Alan had grabbed his coat. "What's wrong?"

Alan's brow creased. "Be careful. His sister is missing."

"What? No! Gibson said it was just a trick." Liam broke free. "Jeremiah made it look like Ellie was taken just to get me ..."

The puzzled expression on Alan's face became concern. "I don't know what to tell you, Liam. She disappeared on the walk out. She hasn't been seen for nearly a week. Her parents have been searching ... they were hoping she was on board—like you. If she was, there's no sign of her—"

Liam couldn't stay to hear anymore. He tore down the slope towards the nearest group. She had to be here.

But as he looked, the truth started to sink in. There were no children among the abductees.

He cringed when he ran into Ellie and Aaron's mother. Her face lit up with hope—then fell almost immediately.

He backed away. He didn't know what to say to her.

He passed the woman he had seen earlier. She was holding her phone out on a stick and talking to it.

"Witnesses are describing it as the proverbial flying saucer. Call it what you will, a large, bright object lit up the sky and rained fire down in the Chihuahuan Desert in the early hours of this morning. More than two hundred people claim to have seen it for about ten seconds before it was gone."

"Liam?" A tap on his shoulder startled him. "Your mother is looking for you."

He reeled about and stared at Mrs Scully. "You're my grandmother."

She nodded with a half smile. He placed his hand in hers and they slipped back into the circle around their campfire. His mother must have been looking for him. She pushed her way back into the group. "Please don't wander off like that, Lee. My heart can't take any more."

Doggett approached Mulder, who was on his feet testing out his bandaged ankle.

"All those who wish to be here are," Doggett said.

"That means—"

"Those that don't wish to be have gone. None of them are bound to the hive mind anymore. They're essentially free ... unless—"

Tight-lipped, both men glanced at Liam.

"Will they cause any trouble?"

"For the time being? No. But who knows—"

Whatever else he said was drowned out by a deep and sudden roar of jet thunder.

At the sound everyone sat a little straighter. Danger always came from above—that had been Major Drummond's first lesson.

"They won't be long now," Doggett said. "If you don't leave soon, they'll find you here."

A shout and barking rose from the crash site. Seconds later Liam's dad and Rudi emerged with Eric and Mr Skinner. They walked at a quick pace up the hillside, passing between the corralled supersoldiers.

Rudi made a beeline to Mulder, holding an object in his hand. "I knew I'd find some."

Catching sight of it, Liam felt his head spin again and he had to work extra hard to maintain the calm space in his head.

"It's like the other one," Rudi said.

It was a piece of carved pottery, fitting perfectly in Rudi's palm—only this time Liam knew where it was from. He had been standing on it when the ship began to tear itself to pieces.

"It wanted to be found by me. I can't tell you how I know."

"What does it want?" Mr Skinner asked. "If it _is_ alive, as you believe, there's no guarantee its intentions are benign."

Rudi held the artifact in front of him like it was a divining rod. "It still wants to go this way."

Harry rubbed his chin. "West, do you reckon?"

"Yes."

"Wouldn't that be where we found you in the desert? Why there?"

Mulder studied the object. "On our side or not, they'll take it off you if they find it. We're about to leave. Are you coming with us?"

"All I know is that it's telling me to go that way." Rudi pointed to the hill behind them. Liam couldn't be sure, but it looked like the way back to the base.

"If you leave now, I can prevent them finding you," Doggett said.

"You're staying?" Mulder said in surprise to Doggett. "You're taking a risk."

"Someone needs to keep the troops in line. You know the pisser in all this?" Doggett gave a half smile. "They made me sign up for this. Technically I'm legal property of the US Army."

Toby's jaw dropped. "Man, that's fu—"

Marie put her hands over Liam's ears. "I told you before, Mulder. It's finished."

Harry turned to her. "Honey, I'm not so sure that—"

"Where does it end, Harry? If we keep giving into fears of something that _might_ happen, someone who _might_ be bad—"

"We'll never have any choice, Marie. They know it. The only way we can protect—"

"What if that protection is as dangerous as—"

Liam had never heard his parents so at odds. He didn't need his mother to cover his ears. He'd do it himself. He turned his back on the group, wishing he could block out the sound of their voices.

He dove into his inner peace to escape.

The argument attracted a few curious looks, but most people were polite enough to avoid looking their way.

He found himself on the edge of the group, looking out. Rudi stepped up beside him, the artifact in his clasp.

"Mulder said Gibson is gone."

Liam looked up in surprise and Rudi went on. "I don't want to believe it."

It was funny thinking of Gibson having friends. Mulder had been Gibson's friend, although Liam always had the impression it was not the easiest relationship in the world. By his own admission, that friendship hadn't stopped Gibson using Mulder—and all of them—as pawns in his own plan. Rudi had spent a lot of time with Gibson when they were studying the extractor. Perhaps he had mistaken Gibson's usery for friendship. Perhaps he didn't care.

"He said my thoughts were hard to understand—maybe because in my head I'm speaking my own language.

"We worked together. He didn't understand my thoughts very well—but I think he knew exactly what I was feeling because that's the way he felt. He wanted what I wanted."

"Revenge?"

Rudi tucked the artifact into a large pocket in his coat. "An end."

Liam was at a loss to known what to tell him. Looking at all these people freed from the ship, it seemed Gibson may have achieved something.

The woman with the notepad was nibbling on the end of a pencil as she talked with a guard over by the supersoldiers. A few survivors made aimless tracks between bonfires. A shoe-less man squatted next to some flames. The fire was low but none of the man's companions seemed to have the energy to rise and stoke it. In bare arms and a thin shirt, he must have been freezing.

Liam looked down at his own over-sized coat as if he was noticing it for the first time. Only Rudi was watching when he walked toward the man.

"Here," he said, sliding the coat off. "You look like you could use this."

The man stumbled to his feet. As he rose, a fleeting figure up the hill on the very edge of the survivors caught Liam's eye.

All the unpleasantness of the fighting disappeared. He knew that figure. Liam felt a surge of exultation. They were wrong. They were all wrong.

_Ellie._

She put a finger to her lips and beckoned him. She turned and made her way to the top of the hill.

"Ellie, wait!"

"Over here, Liam," he heard her call. "Come quick. You have to see this!"

When he reached the crest, he stopped to work out where she had gone. She wasn't behind the bushes (which he was somewhat grateful for). The only place she might be was behind a boulder a short walk away.

Behind him, back with his parents, Sal started howling.

"Come on," Ellie called again.

In his excitement, Liam ran, but when he skidded around the boulder, his legs locked up and he toppled on his face.

"We don't have much time."

Liam felt himself be rolled over. A man he had known his whole life stared down.

Jeremiah.


	42. Chapter 42

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

For an alien making a great escape, Jeremiah sure was fussy.

He plucked Liam up, chucked him over his shoulder, and took off at a hasty pace.

"Hush," Liam heard, but it wasn't for him. Far behind them Sal fell quiet. Liam refused to consider what else Jeremiah might have done to her. Who knew the extent of his abilities?

For the third time in a day, Liam found himself carried like a log. He was sick of it. Protesting was out of the question; he could breathe and that was about all.

Moonlight fell on the gully, which twisted away from the crash site. Jeremiah carried Liam for at least five minutes until the gully petered out. A vehicle waited at the end. With a quick look behind them, Jeremiah loaded Liam into the front of the jeep, arranged him like a toy with bendy limbs, and clicked the seatbelt in place. Scully had once done the same thing.

This made it—what?—three times kidnapped now. Or maybe four even. Gibson had implied as much.

Gibson. An unexpected pain throbbed in Liam's forehead. He refused to cry ... and the pain burned more.

_Think about something else._

The two-timing, shapeshifting alien put the car in motion—but left the headlights off. He wove in and out like he was a tentative tortoise.

The light wasn't strong enough to be certain, but Liam thought Jeremiah was swerving to avoid boulders and bushes.

_Why bother?_

Sitting in a moving vehicle while paralyzed turned out to be uncomfortable. When they hit a rock, Liam was tossed sideways. He was stuck that way until the vehicle bounced him back.

_What if I ...?_

Putting himself in the void was becoming Liam's answer to everything. As he sank into concentration, he could almost see the invisible binds Jeremiah had wrapped him in. All he had to do was find a way to loosen them.

 _Then what? Open the door and roll out?_ Actually, that might work. Jeremiah's getaway wasn't exactly high speed. But try as hard as he might, the binds wouldn't budge.

Liam fought for a way to express his disapproval. With the little bit of movement he had, he glared at Jeremiah.

It worked. Jeremiah glanced at him.

Stiffness went out of Liam's cheeks and he gasped in a big mouthful of air. Then he ripped into his captor.

"What did you do to Ellie, you dirty double crosser?"

Jeremiah shrugged. "Her fate is a mystery to me. You thought you saw her. You did not."

"I don't believe you."

"As you wish."

His response made Liam fume. "For such a dirty double crosser you're shit at making a swift exit."

Jeremiah's craggy eyebrows, extra dark in the unlit cab, shot up. "Does your mother know you use that language?"

"Are you going to tell her?"

That shut Jeremiah up. His attention went back to his zig-zag escape route.

"If you'd put the headlights on, you'd see better."

"Headlights aren't necessary."

Liam had to disagree.

"Are all aliens shit drivers?" He didn't care that he was overdoing it—if ever a moment deserved some cuss words, this had to be it. Even his mother wouldn't argue.

Jeremiah seemed offended. "What do you mean? I'm taking absolute care. Look about you—"

"How? The lights aren't on."

"Humans." Jeremiah made a disparaging noise. "Every square foot of this desert has life. You think just because you can't see something that gives you the right to go barrelling over it in a one tonne truck with no considerations to others?"

"Oh, yeah? If you're so big on consideration, why kidnap me? Again!"

The jeep came to a real dirt road, and they swung right onto it. Liam rolled with the motion, braced by his restraint. "Do you know how hard it is to sit like this?"

"Sorry," Jeremiah muttered.

Blood rushed into Liam's legs and arms. Not his hands or feet though. Crafty.

"You'll come to understand," Jeremiah said. "This is the right thing to do."

Liam squirmed in his seat, getting comfortable.

"Is that what the Grays told you—each time you got sucked back onto a Gray ship?"

Jeremiah looked thoughtful but didn't respond.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I have a feeling you know."

Liam shook his head. "Nope. Not a clue."

"You're angry."

"Gee. What gave it away?"

"You used to be such a pleasant little boy."

"And now you're an alien creep. People change."

Jeremiah had sped up when they got on the road. As far as Liam could tell, it was taking them back toward the compound.

They wound around hills, working their way to the top. It was still too dark to make out details, but when they reached the ridge, Liam could recognise the bowl-shaped plateau nestled below them.

The compound really had been in its own little world.

At first Liam thought they were heading back to it. They even got as far as the first perimeter fence and the main gate. This must have been the road Mulder drove the RV on. But instead of going through it, Jeremiah turned off onto another rough track running parallel to the fence.

As best he could tell, they were heading north.

Without warning Jeremiah slammed his foot on the brake and cut the engine.

"This is it?" Liam looked around.

The sky above the hill they had just come over was starting to lighten. Dawn wouldn't be far off. They were in the middle of nowhere.

Jeremiah came around to his door and collected Liam, setting him upright.

"Walk," he said, and feeling returned to Liam's feet.

Cold penetrated the bottom of his sneakers and his cheeks felt like pin cushions in the freezing air. He concentrated for a second and felt instant warmth that came when he refocused on the void.

He tried to look innocent when Jeremiah gave him a speculative look.

"Where am I walking to?" Liam asked.

Jeremiah hoisted a handful of the wire mesh. There was enough space at the bottom to scramble through.

"You're taking me back to the camp?"

"Not quite."

If he tried to run, he wouldn't get very far. Jeremiah would paralyze him again. Liam wiped away ice crystals and mud from his knees on the other side. "Are you going to tell me anything?"

The poker face staring at him revealed nothing, but Liam got his answer. "I need you. Nothing else will work."

Jeremiah set off into the base without looking to see if Liam was following. Liam glanced at the jeep—if he sprinted fast enough ...

His legs started walking his body, which was disconcerting because they weren't receiving signals from his brain and therefore didn't compensate for a shallow ditch Jeremiah had them walk through.

"Traitors," he told his legs when he stood up. To Jeremiah he yelled, "I'll walk by myself, thanks."

When he was caught up with his captor, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"You break bonds."

"I do?"

"You must have felt it."

All those little minds, battering against the void, trying to get in. Yes, he'd felt it. They were the supersoldiers. They had been tied to him, whether he (or they) liked it or not. But not anymore. He had set them free.

He could still sense them—buzzing beyond the space Liam had created for himself—but they couldn't get in even if they wanted to.

"That was just the supersoldiers," he said. "You think I can set your brothers free?"

"It's much more than that. The Little Gods use everything. They gave life to their ships; made the ships part of themselves. The ships give them power."

Liam thought about his cool metal cell, about the Frankenstein patches in the lower corridors, about the strange black scales that peeled off the goo chamber wall. The goo chamber.

"We had a plan," Jeremiah said. "It failed."

A plan they had (presumably) been working on for months. A plan that had got Gibson killed. Why didn't he have something to say about _that_? Callous—that was what Jeremiah was.

"That's not good enough," Liam said flatly.

"What do you mean?"

"Gibson's gone. Do you even care?"

He grabbed a stick and swung it into a spindly cactus tree. It hit with a satisfying whack. "What's the point of any of this if no one cares?"

Jeremiah removed the stick from Liam's hand and touched the bush. It healed before Liam's eyes.

"Come." Jeremiah began moving again.

"Wait a second." Liam examined the plant. All signs of his anger had vanished. "You said the plan didn't work. But the ship was destroyed, wasn't it?"

"And with it, any chance of freeing the off-world fleet."

"There's more?"

"On earth there are six ships. All now infected one way or another with the supersoldier virus and human vaccine. There will be no new supersoldiers. Today was to be the day the clones came online. Humans were needed to seed the clones, but humans have memories. Memories make you dangerous."

_Or they give you life._

"If the ships are all infected, why worry?"

"Once they were free, the human supersoldiers knew they would be perceived as a threat. Your virus has given them the ability to remember themselves—while still being part of the hive. If their original thoughts were detected ... they had to destroy the clones and those ships or risk being destroyed themselves.

"But supersoldiers are Earth's creation. The Little Gods have other ships. They have failed here, but unless they can be isolated from their ships, they will never stop."

"And you expect me to do something about that?"

"Only because Gibson's plan failed ..."

"What exactly was Gibson's plan if it wasn't to blow up the ship?"

"You know about the nanobots?"

"Yes. They took the nanobots from Mr Skinner and reprogrammed them."

"The nanobots were made out of metals which integrated with living cells. They themselves were not important—but they could carry signals."

Liam made the connection. "That's how Esther comes into this. She lives in the internet."

"Mulder and Scully once met a woman who wanted to upload her conscious mind to an electronic network. She succeeded.

"She has been an invaluable ally. But she is limited to earthly networks. When the Grays began to suspect her existence, she too knew she was threatened."

Jeremiah forged ahead through the scrub. "The ships are living. Cells integrated with metal. If she could get into the ship network ..."

Liam nearly drew to a stop. "The ship was alive?"

"In a way. The ships were as enslaved as my brothers and I. More so, as we at least could come and go."

"There were lights." Liam recalled his experience on the ship. "They were guiding us. I thought they were leading us to safety."

He almost had enough puzzle pieces to make sense of everything. He ran to keep up with Jeremiah. "Gibson had to use the nanobots to get Esther onto the ship, but the ship was destroyed—so whatever she was planning is gone."

"Which means you are my last hope. My only hope."

"I don't know what she was planning," Liam said in exasperation. "I tried to help the ship, but that didn't work."

"Your help came too late."

"Then what can I do?"

"You were too late on earth. If we act quickly we will not be too late for the others."

Liam didn't like the sound of that. "The others? No, wait ..."

The other ships ... in space.

"You want to take me to space?" he squeaked.

"We all deserve freedom."

Liam gulped. "Why didn't you just ask? Maybe—"

"Because your parents will not say yes."

"Maybe _I_ would have?"

 _Would I?_ Was it fair that humans now had freedom but the shapeshifters didn't? And if it was in their means, shouldn't the humans help the others? A vision of Jeremiah and him standing in the centre of a flying saucer filled his mind—the stars they raced towards spelling out adventure.

"You're a good boy, Liam. You would not say yes."

In the gray morning light, Liam started to recognise landmarks. His sense of curiosity perked up. "I know this place."

"You found the foreigner here. You found something else."

"The artifact?" Liam shook his head. "I didn't find it."

"Not that."

There was only one other thing ...

"You were the one who covered up the hole!"

Of course, it had to be Jeremiah who found the cave. No one else would have kept it secret.

The grizzled old man caught his eye. "It's more than a hole."

"Ellie and I looked. There were some ancient carvings but that's about all."

"You didn't know what you were looking for."

The dark outline of the shelter appeared, reminding Liam of the day they found Rudi and the time he and Ellie explored the cave.

"Did you ever wonder why the foreigner was led here?" Jeremiah said. "To this exact place?"

Liam scratched his head. "Rudi said the artifact led him here ..."

"And you never asked yourself why?" Jeremiah quickened his pace. "We must hurry. We don't have much time."

In fact, they had no time.

Two gunshots cracked over their heads, and Jeremiah was pulling Liam down into a crouch before Liam could work out what direction their attackers were coming from.

"Jeremiah, stop."

A man stepped out from the hut. It was Mulder. He walked toward them with a decided limp. A dark shape darted around his legs. Sal was okay.

Jeremiah stood and seized Liam by the arm. "I won't be stopped, Mulder. I need him more than you."

"Stan?" Two more figures emerged from the shelter. Liam watched as his parents flanked Mulder.

"Liam, are you okay?" Marie asked, concern writ large on her face as she took in his lack of a coat.

Liam could only nod. Jeremiah had bound his legs again, but his arms were still free. Did Jeremiah mean to leave him half free? Was his concentration split between Liam and someone else?

"You won't take a step further, Jeremiah," Mulder said. "Bullets won't stop you, but they will slow you down."

"My blood—"

"Won't hurt Liam."

The gunshots had come from two different directions. If Jeremiah had to concentrate on holding Liam secure, perhaps he couldn't do anything about the shooters.

Liam tested the strength of the bonds from the void. _There must be some way to fight this._

Harry regarded his old friend. "Why, Stan?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Why wouldn't I understand?"

"There's no other way—it has to be like this."

"Does it?" Harry shook his head.

"Liam was only ever yours temporarily. He can never change what he is. He will always be drawn back to his makers."

It made Liam squirm to hear himself be talked about like he was just a thing.

"Why don't we let him decide that—when he's finished growing?"

"There are things that can't be left to the whim of a child." A catch in Jeremiah's voice made Liam look up. Was that a tear in his eye?

"Things like what?"

"All my brothers want is freedom. How can I live free knowing they are not?"

Was Jeremiah pleading?

"If we wait, the chance will be lost."

"So, you're just going to take him? A child?" Marie said. "How is that any better than what the Grays did to you?"

Jeremiah breathed in as though he was steeling himself. "A high price must be paid for true freedom."

"Is this really what you want for your first act of freedom, Stan?" Her interrogation was as caring as it was calm.

"I have no choice, Marie. I have the means to stop them. How can I not take it?"

"How could you be so heartless? Do you really want freedom bought with misery?"

Rifle in her hands, Dr Scully stepped into view. "Listen to her, Jeremiah. This is not the way. If you must take someone, let it be me."

The expression Jeremiah gave her was kindly. "You know it is futile, Dana. Only Liam possesses the skill I need."

A strongly accented voice spoke behind them.

"I don't know what skill you think an eleven-year-old boy has. But he's _not_ your only solution. Take me instead."

Jeremiah's grip on Liam tightened as he twisted to study Rudi. "What good would that do? Don't think I don't understand—but none of you can help me."

"The nanobots—I've got some of them."

Marie gasped. "Rudi—"

"It's alright." He gave her a smile before turning back to Jeremiah. "You know I was Gibson's lab rat for testing the extractor. I've still got some of the bots in me, programmed and ready to take control ... if they are given a chance to work."

Mulder shook his head. "That was a big risk, Rudi—leaving them in."

"True—but my oupa waited years to get his revenge, and all that time he planned and planned, and bided his time. And Gibson taught me the risk was worth it."

Jeremiah's brows scrunched up. "Liam says Gibson tried the nanobots but did not survive."

"But _I_ did. When we blew up the ship, I survived. I can't explain it, but I have a part to play in this. And this will help me." Rudi pulled out the piece of artifact he had taken from the crash site. "I don't know why, but my family got chosen too. Maybe it was chance that I survived that first ship explosion, maybe I was just a handy vessel. But I think it's more than that. When I picked up that first artifact, it wasn't just telling me where it wanted to go—it was telling me I needed to follow it too.

"They took everything from me. I want to give back."

Marie took a step to Jeremiah.

"Stan—Jeremiah—you want to free your brothers, just as you're now free. You're free to make choices good or bad. Don't treat my son the way you were treated. Please."

As the desert waited Liam felt the first rays of sunshine warm his back and light the faces of his parents. All of them.

_Hello, sunrise._

Liam continued to fight against the bands Jeremiah had wrapped him in. He could feel them loosening—just a few minutes more and he's have them.

Suddenly they burst. Liam fell forward. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the arms of Marie and Dr Scully. Ever the optimist, Sal wagged her tail.

Jeremiah stared at them as inscrutable as ever.

"You only ever treated me with kindness." He bowed his head, then turned to Rudi. "You come willingly?"

"Yes."

"We have worked to do."

He strode away and Rudi followed with a shrug.

When he reached the hole, Jeremiah kicked the sand to unearth a rope tied to the iron cover. He threw it over his shoulder and heaved the cover aside. He threw the rope, which was anchored, down the hole.

Harry whistled. "What the ..."

"You guys didn't know about the hole?" Liam asked.

His father fixed a look at him. "But you did?"

"Some," Liam replied evasively.

"Mulder," Jeremiah called. "Make sure they stay back. Well beyond the shelter."

He said something to Rudi who waved at them, took the rope and shimmied into the hole.

"What's down there?" Harry shouted as they backed away.

"It's just a ca—" Liam stopped.

The squiggly lines on the wall, the black drips which had pooled and vanished. The artifacts' powerful pull.

Jeremiah's face was unreadable. "Another ship. Older. Smaller. It crashed thousands of years ago. I've been repairing it."

Something clicked for Liam. "That's why you took the artifact."

"Be well, Liam." With a final nod, Jeremiah jumped into the hole.

They did not have to wait long for the earth around them to start rumbling. The vibrations came up through the ground and made Liam's teeth chatter. Sal started howling and she nipped at Marie's feet.

"Quick! Back!" Harry yelled over the noise of groaning and heaving.

The desert rippled and roared underfoot.

This was it.

Jeremiah was leaving—and with him perhaps one final piece of the puzzle.

Too late—the story of his life—the connection dropped into place. Between the strange carvings in the cave and the dripping black oil which disappeared into cracks and the tiny black oil barbs which arose around him on the Grays' ship—and Ellie.

Liam scrabbled about, trying to head to the hole, only to be tackled by Mulder.

"Let me go!"

"It's not safe—"

"Ellie—"

Mulder and Liam fell back against the rolling earth as the soil in front of them broke and a huge object pushed up from it, showering them with dirt and plants and rock.

The eruption tore clay and rock from the ground. The shelter, on the very edge of it, was heaved up. It rained down in mangled bits.

A dust cloud mushroomed and got in Liam's eyes.

Coughing, Mulder dragged him beyond the haze and doubled over. When they straightened, the curtain of dust had begun its downward drift.

Liam's parents and Dr Scully had fallen to their knees. None of them moved.

A ship hung and hummed in the dawn light.

Sal stood to attention, barking her head off until Marie put a hand against her and urged her to be still.

A boyish grin of delight spread over Mulder's face. "What do you see, Scully?"

She wiped a dirty track of tears across her cheek. It was impossible to say if she was crying or laughing. "I don't suppose it's just a weather balloon?"

Green lights on the underside put on a twinkly show. If the other ship was a supertanker, this was a family cruiser. It zipped over them in a quick triangle.

And then it shot up and vanished, leaving nothing but an endless empty blue bowl above them.

The ship had long gone but Dr Scully, on the ground, was still staring. They all were.

Her hand wrapped around the crucifix at her neck. "I guess we have a lot to talk about."

Marie drew a weary hand across her forehead. "I guess we do."


	43. Chapter 43

December 22, 2012  
New Mexico

"Do you think anyone will notice?"

Mulder pursed his lips. "Notice the large crater you're about to fall in if you're not careful? Someone will stumble across it eventually."

"You could fit, what—six, maybe seven—swimming pools down there?"

The desert was short on points of reference and Liam didn't know if he could trust his own estimate. It was a decent hole. Much bigger than the ship itself.

"What do you think, girl?" Sal sat on her haunches, giving him her wolfish grin, which as usual told him she was laughing at him.

Mulder gave the question serious consideration, hands plunged in the pockets of his thick coat. "We're not talking about Olympic-sized pools."

It was crazy cold to be talking about swimming pools. Liam blew air to watch the vapor form. The cold still hadn't got to him—Mulder had offered him the coat but he turned it down. At some point someone was going to figure out something weird was going on. What would he tell them?

"No, no. Just your backyard variety."

"Six, easily. Maybe you should wait until the rains come to fill it up before getting too close. I don't want your mom yelling at me."

Liam laughed, then checked over his shoulder. His parents and Dr Scully were still sitting. You'd think they'd stand up. The earth was crunchy with frost underfoot. Their conversation had been choppy and full of long pauses, like no one knew quite what to say yet. When the volume of the conversation started creeping up, Liam had moved away. Mulder had followed him. The crater drew them.

"When you say my 'mom' who do you really mean?"

"I mean your mom. The woman who makes you brush your teeth after every meal and say your prayers every night."

"Not anymore, she doesn't."

"She has you well trained."

The force of the ship rising had dislodged soil and rocks, and sprinkled them over the ground. For someone who cared so much about the land, Jeremiah had left a mess. No more cave to explore. Liam toed a stone, picked it up and tried chucking it across the gaping mouth of the hole. "Do you ever think of yourself as my dad and Dr—Scully—as my mom?"

"You heard about that, huh?"

"I sort of noticed it recently. I'm—I'm okay with it, in case you're wondering."

"That's a relief. You'd have a hard time getting a refund on that DNA."

They watched Liam's second shot fall well short. It sent up a plume of dust when it hit the bottom.

"I don't know—it seems faulty—can I return it?"

"Faulty?" Mulder elbowed him playfully and threw his own stone. It cleared the hole. "I can't vouch for the Scully side of things, but the Mulder pedigree is above reproach—so long as you don't dig too deeply."

On the other side, a chunk of dirt broke from the top and slid down. Sal barked and Mulder stepped back, tugging Liam back with him. No place around the edge was stable.

"If you're really asking do I wish things could have been different ... "

"You don't have to answer," Liam said. "I think I know."

Behind him, voices started rising again. When he had wandered away, Dr Scully had been struggling to explain why she had kept secrets. She had thrown him a stricken glance, and he had understood his presence upset her. They seemed more calm without him there. At least, they _had_.

It was time to run interference—and let them know their period of grace was up. He spun around to confront them. "You're not all going to start yelling again, are you?"

The effect was immediate: Dr Scully closed her mouth; Marie looked away; Harry scraped a stick in the dirt. Only Mulder kept his eyes on Liam.

Liam dropped his gaze, shy about letting them know his feelings. "I don't want you to yell."

Nobody apologized, but Marie pushed herself up and brushed off her pants. She approached the crater yawning. The others followed.

"You know the first thing I'm going to get when I reach civilization? A decent cup of coffee."

Dr Scully groaned. "Yes, please."

Coffee? At a time like this?

Marie rubbed her gloveless hands. "Rudi was a strange young man," she said, staring into the pit. "We owe him a debt of gratitude we may never have the chance to pay. Gibson, too." The name came out reluctantly. "What do you think he truly hoped to achieve?"

Dr Scully found her own space and peered into the crater. "I don't know what Gibson wanted—he didn't see things the same way the rest of us do. I know he wanted to help."

"He used Liam. He put him in danger."

Dr Scully shivered, drawing her hands into her sleeves and crossing her arms. "Gibson is the reason you have Liam."

Marie gave her an appraising look.

"I needed a way to protect my son. Gibson suggested adoption. He was the only person who could help me do it."

Marie did the calculations in her head. "But that was ten years ago ... he wouldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen at the time. Not much more than a child himself."

Dr Scully squeezed her eyes shut. "Did Gibson ever get to be a child?"

"Did _you_ ever give him a chance?"

A shadow passed over Dr Scully. "So much happened after William—Liam's—birth. Mulder was warned to leave or risk his own life—and ours. We took that warning seriously."

Liam tried to guess how this might relate to Gibson and his actions.

Marie was beyond guessing. "Talk to me, Dana. Help me understand it."

Dr Scully turned on the spot. They were all standing around the crater now, stamping their feet, and shuffling to ward off the morning chill.

"I never understood how much I wanted a child until I was told I could never bear one." The wall was down; words flowed from Dr Scully in a volume Liam had never heard before.

"I was abducted once, not long after I started working with Mulder. When I was found—weeks later—it was clear testing of some sort had been done on me. Later I learned other women with similar experiences were dying of cancer. My cancer was treated—but as a result of my abduction, I couldn't have children. Fate played a strange hand. Not long after learning this, a case I was working brought me in contact with a child who was my genetic match. She had been created using my ova. Emily was orphaned and I sued for adoption. I didn't get it but that didn't matter. Emily didn't survive. When I was ready, I decided to try fertility treatments. When they didn't work, I buried my longing. William was a miracle and a surprise—and one I _had_ to have serious concerns over. In my line of work, not asking questions would have been foolish. Yet, the chance was there. The chance he was just ours.

"It should have been the happiest time of my life, but it was also a nightmare. The day I learned I was pregnant, Mulder vanished. He was found dead three months later.

"But—"

"Dead, as in I buried him."

Liam waited for his mother to scoff. Pain rippled over her face, but she didn't look away. She had come a long way.

"He'd been in the grave for another three months before we worked out that he wasn't truly dead but had been infected with the supersoldier virus.

"I'll never be able to explain what getting him back was like. But we careen from one catastrophe to another—and we weren't out of the woods. Not by a long shot.

"During my pregnancy they had been keeping tabs on us. By the time we realised to what extent, it was all but too late to make better plans.

"Liam was born in a small town in Georgia—Doggett's home town. I was at my due date and we had just discovered the supersoldiers had reached a new phase in their development. Until then, men had been creating human supersoldiers in a lab—but then we learned a dormant virus in some abductees was transforming them into supersoldiers.

"These supersoldiers were created with one purpose. I don't know what was left of their minds after the transformation—not much as far as I could see. Mulder, Skinner, Doggett—they all thought I'd be safe in Doggett's home town, so that's where they sent me. Doggett's friend, Monica, drove me. But these newly created supersoldiers knew. Maybe it was the chip in my neck. Maybe it was William—we don't know. Then he was born and I thought they were going to take him from me. But they didn't. We led ourselves to believe that Liam was not what the aliens had expected, and that they were no longer interested in him. But that was wrong—although the Grays never did anything, there were other groups—men.

"We learned Mulder's life was threatened. William was just days old when Mulder left promising to do everything he could to get back to us. He wouldn't tell me where he was going or what he might be planning. It was too dangerous for me to know. We had limited ways of communicating, and eventually even they dried up.

"There was no way to tell him about attempts on William's life, about the abductions. Or ... other things." She couldn't hide the vagueness, but no one asked for more explanation.

Mulder had made no effort to interrupt or add to her story. Instead, he'd edged closer to her, as if he was readying himself in case she fell.

"It became harder and harder to cling to the belief he was totally all mine and not the result of some experiment.

"I still think Mulder had it right." She held Mulder's gaze for a moment. "Liam was _not_ what they were expecting. Regardless, I had no way of telling him what was happening to us.

"I didn't know it, but Mulder was hiding in the desert with Gibson—and Gibson had ways of keeping track of me. He knew I was worried."

She stopped and appeared to be considering her next statement.

"A man broke into my house and injected Liam with a solution. That man turned out to be an unlikely savior. Unusual abilities had begun to manifest in William—including the ability for supersoldiers to find him. The solution masked those abilities.

"When Gibson learned this, he spied his chance."

Harry reached for Marie, listening transfixed as Scully revealed a truth Liam was beginning to understand.

"Several years earlier Mulder and I helped a woman who had some particular talents. Gibson was able to reach out to her, and she agreed to help us. She gave us the ability to communicate, but to limit the risk of exposing her, she was only to be contacted in dire situations.

"With her help, we were able to arrange the adoption. I never knew who or where you were. I put my trust in a young boy and a woman I barely knew. I didn't give myself time to second guess my decision.

"William wasn't safe with me. But with his abilities taken from him, and away from me, he might have a chance.

"For the longest time, I—I never knew if I'd made the right decision."

Dr Scully tipped her head back to look into the sky.

"Then I saw him with you that first day—he looked like a grimy, happy kid. You have no idea how much gratitude and relief I had.

"But when I saw him with you it hurt too. It hurt so much."

Mulder seemed poised to close the gap between them, but she held him off with a small movement and looked at Marie and Harry directly.

"I wanted to protect him. To protect you. I'm sorry. About everything."

Her heart was as healed as Liam could make it—she stood bravely—but the memory of the pain of heartache would take a long time to fade. It might never fade.

"Dana, you gave William up"—Marie took a step forward and reached for Dr Scully's hand—"that doesn't mean you gave up being his mother."

* * *

They were all talked out as they trekked back to Mulder's truck.

There was no reason to wait around. There was no reason to be in the desert anymore.

It wasn't until they got to the vehicle (which was so layered in mud its insignia was buried) that Liam thought to ask about it or how his parents had come to be at the shelter in time to intercept Jeremiah.

"How did you know where to find me?"

His dad pulled open a back door. "Rudi said the artifact was telling him where to go. And Sal went crazy, running around him until we followed."

Rudi was a question for another day.

They climbed in the vehicle, Sal squeezing in between Marie and Liam. Mulder turned over the engine, letting it idle as he looked right, then left, then right again.

"The Jurassic era had a faster lifespan, Mulder," Dr Scully said from the front passenger seat.

Mulder tapped the steering wheel, then dug about in a pocket and pulled out his phone. He flipped it opened, checked it. After putting it away he resumed tapping.

Without warning, he said, "Anyone else sick of running?"

Harry scanned the horizon. "Tell me again why we aren't hightailing it out of here?"

"Skinner just texted."

"I'm guessing that means the authorities have arrived?"

"Emergency services, military—and an agent with a presidential mandate who has made contact with Skinner."

Marie stopped, seatbelt extended in her hand. "An agent. What sort of agent?"

"The covert kind. I guess Gibson would say it's all about not showing your hand too quickly, picking your moment—sorry—" Mulder turned to see the irritation in Marie's face.

"Not knowing who to trust has always been our weakness. That changed when we found a source who was able to infiltrate any and every digital and analog network."

Even now Esther's name was to be avoided.

"A resistance has been building in Government ranks. It hasn't been easy and it's taken a lot of work. It started at the top, but they've had to wait for a time to act."

"Wait—a resistance? The whole time we've been here? And _now_ they show up?" Harry said.

Even Marie was shocked. "Doesn't that seem ... convenient?"

Why hadn't anyone come to help them until now? Liam listened in confusion. If they had had help ... Liam's hands curled into fists.

His dad was angry too. "This resistance—are you saying we can trust them? Doesn't that go against your personal credo?"

"Trust them or not, we're stuck with a not insignificant problem."

Harry van de Kamp was quick to catch on. "The supersoldiers."

"Yeah."

"And anyone of them could ..." Harry sighed. "Keeping Liam secret isn't going to be possible, is it?"

"We'd have to kill every last supersoldier."

Harry sank back into his seat. He rubbed his temple as if his thoughts were giving him pain. "What's to stop the supersoldiers turning on us?"

"They could try—but they're not acting for anyone else anymore. If anything, they're back to being human. With a few enhancements. And they aren't entirely without weakness, so whatever they do, they'll have to be careful. Doggett risked his life for us. There'll be others like him."

"But not all of them."

"That's possible."

Marie cast a fearful look over her shoulder at the empty desert. They were still alone but for how much longer? "Is that why Doggett and the other supersoldiers have stayed put? They expect protection?"

"They'll strike a deal," Mulder said. "They should have plenty of room to negotiate—"

Harry cut in. "Negotiate? With the same people who got us into this mess in the first place? Are you sure you're you, Mulder? You've been telling me for more than a year not to trust anyone."

Mulder pressed back into his headrest. "My whole life has been the punchline in a cosmic farce."

"And you think we should negotiate? You want us to make a deal with the same government that conspired with aliens against the American public. The same government that subjected humans to horrific testing, that persecuted you and drove you underground?"

"Not _the same_ government exactly—I'm finding this as novel as you are." Mulder twisted in his seat to look at them. "We could leave. You could take Liam back to the farm and pretend this never happened—but can you tell me you won't live in fear? You'll always be wondering about the next person who turns up on your doorstep. Scared of the next thing coming over the hill—that's no way to live."

Could they really go back home? Was it really possible? Mr de Rosier had thought so—but then that had probably proven fatal for him if Mulder's ghost friends were to be believed.

Liam had freed himself of the supersoldiers (or freed the supersoldiers from him), hadn't he? In his heart he knew it wasn't as simple as that. _All I have to do is let them in and they're mine again_. _But no one else knows that, do they? And what if the Grays did make me? What if they programmed me to do things I don't know yet?_

The void around him vanished and Liam shook with instant shivers. Sal pressed into him to share her warmth. He hugged her hoping no one would notice and the heater would kick in soon.

"If we make a deal, they'll want something in return. What if we don't agree? What if it involves using our son for their own purposes?" Harry asked.

Marie put her arm around Liam, drawing him to her. "How do we know we can trust these people?"

"We don't. Our source hasn't put us wrong so far, but who knows what may change in the future?" Mulder shook his head and unexpected bitterness crept into his voice. "This is your decision to make—Liam is your son."

Liam stared at the console where Mulder throttled the gearshift, little fingers poking through from Dr Scully's sleeve grazing his hand.

Harry looked at Marie and silent agreement passed between them.

"Help us make the right decision," Harry said. "We know what you've done for us. What it cost you. You shifted the heavens to keep Liam—and us—safe. Who can we trust if we can't trust you?"

"There doesn't really seem to be much of a question here."

"No, there doesn't. But only say the word and we'll listen. Tell us to run—we'll run."

They waited for Mulder to speak. He seemed to be processing an internal conflict and no one was keen to interrupt it.

"Well, Liam," Mulder said finally, "is it time to stop running?"

Liam squinted into the desert around them. It was beautiful and he would miss it.

"Can we do one last thing?"

-o0o-

They pulled up beside some vicious looking skeleton trees, not far from the crash site. Not far from where they'd found Ellie's red bag. And Jerry.

The bag was back with Ellie's family. Along with the other survivors, they were being "processed," a term Mulder relayed with distaste, and would be returned to their home. They were all being interviewed.

The deep thunder of helicopters pounded the air, but they kept their distance. Mulder had shared their location with Mr Skinner who was liaising with the President's agent. They had been instructed to leave their vehicle and wait for alternative transport. Mr Skinner was handling the situation.

Their stop wasn't random.

Liam, trussed up in Dr Scully's coat, knelt in the dirt.

His mother had led him to the tiny cairn she had made days before. It hadn't taken long to make it bigger. The desert had plenty of rocks which all seemed designed for stacking.

"Goodbye, Jerry," Liam said, laying the last tiny stone on top. "I'm sorry."

His parents gave him a moment by himself and he found himself lost in the balancing edges of the rocks.

He wasn't leaving just Jerry behind. He was leaving a piece of himself in the desert.

The doctor crouched beside him.

"Liam—"

He put a finger to his lips, quieting her. "I know why."

"I—"

"I didn't understand at first. Gibson made me see. You didn't want to do it. It broke your heart."

He had seen her heart. He reached out and gave her hand a small squeeze. He let it go, and she rubbed an eye with a knuckle.

"I wanted to do the right thing for you."

"I don't want you to be sorry."

"I promised myself I'd do everything to make you safe."

Liam touched the cairn. "You did."

"I saw you that first day—you looked so healthy, so happy."

Liam couldn't hold back a grin. "I thought you guys looked funny."

"You did?"

"Yup. All stiff and starchy. Then I thought you were disturbed."

She groaned. "Not the first impression I was going for."

It might be dangerous territory, but he had to know. "Did you—did you ever use to think about me? About meeting me?"

"Did I ever think about you? You were _all_ I ever thought of."

A call from Marie warned them a vehicle was approaching.

Dr Scully bowed her head over the cairn like she might be saying a prayer. When she rose, she had a strange smile on her lips. "I still can't believe you called him Jerry."

"Well, sure. What else do you call a frog?" Liam replied. "It's like that old song. Mom used to play it for me when I was a little kid."

Catching the end of their conversation, Marie made a face. "I did?"

-o0o-

The sight of the bus made Liam laugh.

His father shook his head. "I don't believe it."

It pulled up next to them in a cloud of dust and Alan Hirsch rounded the front end.

"Look what we found! Adds a certain symmetry to everything, doesn't it?"

Mrs Scully appeared behind Alan. She held out something to Liam, who took it with excitement.

"My backpack. Where did you find this?"

"Eric found it when they were searching. You must have dropped it when you got off the ship."

Liam didn't remember losing it, but given their wild escape, her suggestion made sense. He hugged it to his chest, glad to have Flashlight back and wondering if he should mention the extractor.

The husky was back on the side of the University of Washington bus.

Liam grinned when Sal's tail whacked his leg. "You approve, don't you?"

"This is it?" Harry said, coming to stand by Liam. "We just get on?"

Marie joined them. "It's not how I imagined this moment."

A window slid open and Toby leaned out. "Just like old times."

Marie and Harry followed Alan and Mrs Scully on board.

Liam couldn't make his legs move. It was hard to believe they had reached this point. Suddenly the thought of leaving scared him. To have one thing was to give up another.

Mulder and Dr Scully stopped by him. "You coming?"

"I'm thinking about something Major Drummond said."

"Yes?" Dr Scully said warily.

"About lambs." Liam sank his hands into his pockets. "He was talking about sacrifice—I get that. He was talking about all of us. But some people made bigger sacrifices than others."

"The nature of sacrifice is a lottery," Mulder said.

"Major Drummond was a crackpot, Liam." Dr Scully was signalling she wanted to move on. "And it's a heavy subject to have to deal with—for anyone."

Liam had one last thing to say. "I understand what he was saying—but what I was really thinking about was the lambs."

His biological parents looked confused.

"Major Drummond said we were all lambs. He's right. And do you know where lambs belong?"

"The freezer?" (Mulder said it so low Liam doubted he was supposed to hear it, so he ignored the quip.)

He waited until they were both looking at him. "They belong on a farm."

"Okay," said Dr Scully. She was trying to puzzle out his meaning.

"You made"—Scully was right—even saying sacrifice was too difficult—"you made sure I had a chance for a great life."

They seemed to stiffen and neither disagreed. He hurried to get to his point.

"Because of you I grew up on the best farm in the world."

His world would have been so different if he had grown up with Mulder and Scully. Maybe he would have liked different things. But then again, maybe not. Farm or city, he couldn't imagine a life without animals. He could speculate all he liked—and he would, eventually—but not now.

For now, and forever, the farm was home—no matter how big his world grew. It was time to share it.

"Why don't you come and see it? Properly this time."

"Your farm?"

He waved his arms about trying to express the idea which seemed beyond words. "You're lambs."

Dr Scully hugged herself as a shiver went through her, and Mulder nodded. "And lambs belong on the farm."

"On the farm." Liam studied the tips of his sneakers. "With me."


	44. Chapter 44

July 4, 2013  
Tessa, Wyoming

"Ouch!" Marie van de Kamp bit down on her finger. Liam glanced over from the balloon he was knotting.

His mother grimaced and showed him the bloody digit. "Papercut. Got me good."

A line of red ran across the scarred pad.

A tingle flared in his hands. Liam had to suppress an automatic impulse to slip into empty head space. People did not die from papercuts. She did not need his help taking care of it.

_Stand down, molecules. Stand down._

No matter how hard he tried not to, Liam found he could still focus his concentration in an instant. The temptation to use his skill was there—but so was his determination to fight it. Using it to heal would be to risk letting all those tiny minds back in again. If he could, he'd forget he ever discovered he had the ability.

Besides, there was no need to worry his parents any more than necessary. They had enough to deal with. They didn't need to know.

"Double darn it," his mother said.

A smidgen of blood had dropped on the envelope she had been sealing.

"I'll do another one," Liam said.

As he dashed the "tt" in Wamsutter, Liam wondered what Terrence Smith would make of the letter. In it Marie had thanked him for the use of his house and SUV, and apologized for the inconvenience of their imposition.

They still didn't know much about the man, but Mr Skinner had assured them he had been compensated for his troubles.

Sending him a letter had been one of Marie's priorities on coming home. Mr Skinner had asked her to wait. She gave him seven months.

Coming home. What a strange experience that had been.

The bus ride had been lively. The students had filled it with music and jokes. Mr Skinner and Mrs Fawbert, who had once worked in a government department, had spent a lot of time on the phone. Mrs Scully had promised to show him photo albums she had tucked away in storage.

The University of Washington bus had driven them right up the driveway to the burnt out remains of their farmhouse.

Together they had approached what had been the verandah but was now a jumble of fallen timbers. The destruction was long cold. That didn't stop Liam feeling like he had just been kicked.

Sal growled a little at his side as Liam took it all in.

It was a quick trip but an important one for his parents. Snow had frozen and begun to thaw at some point. Water pooled around the foundations. His mother had ventured into the charred skeleton, choosing her steps with care. When she returned, she grinned, clutching something in one hand.

She held the small scrap out to Liam. "It's you."

Only when he looked up and saw a glistening in her eye did he realize how much she was holding back.

The tiny photo which had lived on their refrigerator—taken on his first day of school—had survived more than a year and half exposed to the elements.

Mulder and Dr Scully waited at the bus until Marie invited them into their little circle with a smile. When Marie shared the photo with them, only Liam heard Dr Scully's low voice.

"I remember."

Theirs was a quiet trip into Tessa, the small town Liam had known all his life. Mr Skinner, on the phone the whole time, stayed at the front of the bus. None of the van de Kamps had any appetite for conversation. But when the bus pulled up on Main Street, Mr Skinner made his way down the aisle and stopped by Liam's parents.

"The paperwork has been cleared. Your lawyer will take care of the rest."

Liam leapt off the bus, excited to see the streets of his hometown but curious to know why it seemed weird at the same time. He'd already spotted familiar faces outside the diner and 7-Eleven.

It took him a moment to realize his parents were hanging back.

"Where's the best place to get a bite to eat in this place?" Toby asked, flicking a scarf around his neck. It was a bright winter's day and the air was biting. The students poured off the bus. So did Mr Skinner. And Mrs Scully. Then Mulder and Dr Scully. They were like a shield, easing the way for Marie and Harry, who stepped from the bus into a protective circle.

Marie linked arms with Harry.

The reaction on the street was immediate. A pickup slowed as it drove by. A man walking and texting looked up long enough to stumble into a bank of dirty piled snow. Two women standing at a shop door turned their way.

"Is that—?"

Suddenly Liam sensed it wasn't the town that was strange—it was them.

"Harry?"

Suzie Craddock's dad, who sold farm equipment and did electrical engineering, appeared around a corner. He still looked the same.

"Robert," Harry replied, "good to see you."

Harry and Marie made no move to slow down and kept on course for an office above a hardware store where their lawyer practised. Liam ran to catch up.

He felt the gazes on his back.

"What do we tell them, Dad?"

"The truth, son. We tell them the truth."

They weren't long with the lawyer, and when their business was finished they piled back onto the bus and traveled to a plain weatherboard house closer to Kemmerer—again arranged by Mr Skinner.

The plan was to live there for the rest of the winter. They lasted two days before the farm drew them back.

The prospect of saying goodbye was too hard. So none of them did. No one. After dropping the van de Kamps off at their temporary house, the students had waved, promised to be back one day and jumped on the bus.

Mr Skinner couldn't stick around and he offered to accompany Mrs Scully and Mrs Fawbert on their flight back to Washington, D.C. When he made the same offer to Mulder and Dr Scully, they declined.

The van de Kamp's finances were, to quote his mother, "a bit of a mess" and there seemed to be some legalities to sort, but again, Mr Skinner was pulling strings for them. There were meetings with their lawyer and accountant, and some out-of-town suits Mr Skinner called in.

Before the negotiations were hammered out, Harry, Marie and Liam had insulated their old tool shed, made it watertight, and were camping out the last freezing nights of winter in a makeshift home. Liam would have gone back to school, but his mother suggested homeschooling—at least until the new school year. While his father was all for the truth, Liam sensed his mother's concern.

As soon as the weather warmed a fraction, the foundations of their new home were poured.

They hadn't been back a day when old neighbours started arriving. Parts of the farm had fallen into disrepair, but the animals had been rescued and cared for. Even Blue, their standoffish cat. She greeted Sal with a hiss and an arched back.

They never said anything, but these visits pained his parents.

Everyone wanted to know what had happened to Stan.

Harry had insisted on the truth, and he stuck to his guns. He never exaggerated his story, and it never changed. He never seemed embarrassed by its fantastical elements. He told it, and if people believed him, they believed him. And if they didn't, they were still welcome in for a drink.

But on two topics he was careful.

Liam's involvement ... and Stan.

The first was easy to avoid. It was no secret Liam had been with them. Beyond that no one expected a child to know anymore.

But rumors about Stan had started long before the van de Kamps returned to Wyoming.

After the house fire and their "covert extraction" (the words Liam had seen in some legal documents), and the subsequent disappearance of Stan, stories had spread like wildfire.

None of them came close to the truth, but they raised questions in Tessa which had no satisfactory answers. Problems with Stan's social security number, his lack of family, the complete absence of any record of him before he turned up thirteen years earlier.

When pressed, Harry would shrug off all queries.

Liam decided to tackle it one day when they were sinking new posts along their western boundary. Where their farm met Stan's.

"Do you miss Stan, Dad?"

His father leaned on a post and stared at hills. Eventually he drew in a long breath and turned back to his task.

"Stan was a good friend, Liam."

A good friend lost.

The topic stayed buried for a long time after that.

Now it was July, the house was nearly finished and a celebration was planned. It was the perfect time to thank Terrence Smithers—and celebrate with friends and family.

A bang from the roof made Liam look up just as something rattled, rolled and dropped beyond the window. Liam leaned out to see what was happening. Scully was in the garden picking something out of the grass.

"Is it really worth breaking your neck over, Mulder? It was lucky to survive the fall."

There was some more scrabbling from the verandah roof, then legs appeared, climbing down a ladder propped against the side of the house. Mulder jumped the final two feet and took the item from her.

"Best weather vane in the state, Scully. You bet it's worth it."

Liam grinned. His parents had politely accepted Mulder's gift; Scully had said the little googly-eyed alien was as tacky as a pink garden flamenco when he picked it out in the store.

Wheels crunched on the driveway.

"Gran's here!" Liam called as he rushed to the door.

Scully was already greeting her mother by the rental car while Mulder lifted bags from the trunk.

Mrs Scully—Liam's honest-to-God, real life grandmother—spied him and opened her arms for a hug.

"Did you bring them?" Liam asked when she let him go.

"Sure did. Box on the back seat."

Photos of Scully when she was a little girl. There was so much to learn about his new family.

It was only fair.

They never talked about it, but every now and then he caught a curious look on Scully's face—like when he showed her his favorite parts of the farm, and she knew instantly what he loved about it and why.

It was after the first of these excursions—when Liam was explaining to Mulder why Scully was returning home covered in mud—that Scully made an observation.

"You should have seen it," Liam was telling Mulder. "I told Scully she should have worn rain boots. The tracks get big puddles on them when the snow melts and she slipped and landed on her butt when she tried to jump one."

He caught the look they exchanged and her sudden smile.

"What's so funny?"

"Apart from my inelegant spill"—her smile widened—"you've finally started calling me Scully."

Liam was flustered. "Sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful ... it slipped out."

"The same way Scully slipped, I'll bet," Mulder said.

"Ugh—I've got to get out of these jeans," Scully said, making her way to the temporary house. She stopped at the door. "Liam, so long as you never ever call me ma'am again, you can call me anything you like."

Mulder's grin was wicked as they watched her disappear inside. "Should we make her live to regret that?"

Liam didn't have access to Scully's memories, or Mulder's, but they always had a story to tell. He had already learned so much—Mulder and Scully had (kind of) never left. Or they left ... and then came right back—some project they had been asked to consult on in the area. Somehow they had stuck around, helping with the new house. Mulder had said building a home was something on his bucket list he never knew he was missing.

At first Liam didn't question their presence—until he learned Doggett had been posted to the project as well. Starting over did not mean forgetting—even though he tried. Liam was the reason a low profile military training camp had been established on Stan's old farm.

He didn't fully understand the supersoldiers or their fate.

When rescue personnel had arrived at the crash site, the supersoldiers had been taken into custody. But their existence created a headache. And they were evidence.

His grandmother was loading Scully and Mulder up with bags and boxes.

"Hey," Liam said, recognizing another item on top of the photo albums. He picked up the battered scrapbook his mother had put together, running his hand over the imprint of the plastic cup lid. "How did you get this?"

"I knew it was important to your mother. When we left the camp, I had just enough time to put it in my bag. I forgot about it until I unpacked."

He couldn't wait to show his mother. "Mom!"

Marie appeared at the top of the verandah.

"Welcome, Maggie, you're just in time. Liam is about to set the table." She reached down to pat Blue's head as their old cat butted her ankle. "Liam, call your dad in. There's something I think he'll want to see."

By the time Liam and Harry arrived back at the house, everyone was standing around the TV in the living room as a news anchor talked back at them.

"—also among the data dump was a preliminary report into the mysterious discovery of more than a hundred people, and the apparent disappearance of hundreds more, in a New Mexico desert last year."

The TV cut to grainy, low light footage shot in the desert the night the ship imploded. A voiceover started.

"'Forget E.T—it was a cult all along'—that's what experts investigating the bizarre event say in their draft findings."

Liam had seen these clips before. They had played on TV a lot at the New Year. He always looked closely, wondering where he was in the crowd.

"When first responders arrived at a desert wildfire in the early hours of December 22, they solved one perplexing mystery—and discovered an entirely new one.

"Multiple reports of a bright light in the skies over the Chihuahuan Desert led them to a scene straight from a space invaders movie.

"More than a hundred men and women, including some who appeared to have been subjected to horrific genetic experimentation, were found wandering the desert, dazed and dishevelled."

The footage changed to a shot of a dusty car in an otherwise vacant parking lot, desert in the background. In another shot—from a town with a permanent population of fifty-three—more than thirty abandoned cars filled the lot.

"Many were already the subject of an unprecedented missing persons investigation—prompted when so-called "lonely cars"—as local media dubbed them—started appearing in remote places across the state in July last year.

"While most denied having any memory of how they arrived in the desert, some claimed they had been rescued from a giant alien saucer, just moments before they said a ship exploded over the desert.

"However, scientists who rigorously investigated the site, say in the leaked files there is no material evidence to verify these stories. They point to a more mundane explanation."

"The panel, in a four-hundred-page report, concludes the desert survivors were "most likely exhibiting the effects of collective hallucination."

"While most disavowed knowledge of it, the survivors were found not far from a decommissioned military base, where it is believed members of a cult which worshipped so-called 'alien science' lived undetected for two years.

"However, while extraterrestrial involvement has been ruled out, the panel says evidence of significant experimental testing on the survivors _was_ irrefutable, and the base contained laboratories where high tech experiments were probably being conducted."

Scully, glass in hand, choked on a mouthful of water.

"The nature of the testing and its effects have been redacted from the draft report and the fate of these victims remains classified.

"Following the leak, the Government has been quick to announce it would fully investigate who was responsible for the tests.

"Those subjected to experimentation in the interim would be carefully monitored and cared for."

"I don't believe it," Harry said, stabbing the off button on the remote. "It's a whitewash!"

Mulder shook his head in sympathy. "You'll never get used to the betrayal."

"Of my Government lying to its people? Damn straight, I won't. You know, I may not have voted for him, but on this subject I would have trusted this President to do the right thing. If he doesn't order a proper inquiry into this ..."

Marie moved away to the kitchen. "But what is the right thing, Harry? I know you're disappointed, but what if telling people the truth meant putting lives at risk?"

Not just anyone's life.

_Mine._

Harry mumbled something unintelligible then raised his voice. "Maybe some things need to be classified. I accept that. But that"—he pointed at the TV—"that wasn't even a distortion of the truth. It was a barefaced lie. I don't care what they call me. Too many people put their lives on the line for this country. We can't let them end it. I won't let them." He stormed from the living room.

"Where are you going?"

"Letters! That's where I'll start. I'll write letters. Hundreds—thousands if I have to! They're going to hear from me!"

"Talk about summoning up a thundercloud," Mulder murmured.

Harry put down his pen long enough to fire up the barbecue.

As parties went, theirs was low key—but the right people were there, celebrating with Liam. Even Doggett showed up for a short time. He stayed long enough to slam a baseball into a wheat field and have a quiet discussion over a beer with Liam's father at the picnic table they had set up in the yard.

Liam, dozing in the shade of an elm tree, listened with interest.

"The numbers are all wrong," Harry said. "There must have been at least ten times as many people on the ship. And there are a lot of soldiers that can't be accounted for."

"If you're worried—"

"It's hard not to be when you're raising the most strategic piece of military hardware on the planet."

Liam didn't begrudge his dad the description. It was his way of coping. They even joked about it at the dinner table. Anyway. It was better than being called the commander.

"All these unaccounted-for supersoldiers—Liam's not still ... connected to them, is he?"

"At the moment, no. They're free—unless _he_ decides to control them."

Liam nearly laughed out loud. _I don't want my own army._

As Liam understood it, all the supersoldiers were now real, legitimate US army soldiers—but they hadn't had much choice in the decision. For Doggett it gave him purpose. He'd admitted as much. Liam wondered if the other soldiers felt the same way. He never learned the name of the woman who helped him on the ship. She had been kind to him. Mothering, almost.

They were close by, but Doggett was the only one who Liam ever saw. Liam wondered if that was deliberate.

Harry's voice carried. "We'll do our best to prevent that from happening—but who's to say one of these rogue soldiers won't get ideas?"

"Liam's a good kid—I don't see him getting a thirst for world domination yet. And if anyone else gets any ideas about using him—let's just say we'll take care of it."

His grandmother spent time updating them on news from some of the other campers (Mrs Fawbert was going on a cruise, Major Drummond had gone to jail for historic fraud charges involving funds from a church in New York City). Liam hadn't heard from Nick or Charlie for months. He'd never heard from Aaron at all.

They talked through the afternoon, and Scully and Liam flipped pages in the photo albums her mother had brought. His mother had opened her scrapbook with trepidation.

The articles about the oil platform (which was now offline after another "accident") and the mysterious John X (still missing) reminded Liam that his own story was just part of something much larger.

It didn't matter what the investigation said: he knew the truth and so did a lot of other people.

Night fell, making way for the stars. Liam felt himself getting lost in their far-off promise. The soft sounds of a radio played in the background. The women sat on the verandah sipping wine.

His dad had gone inside, leaving him with Mulder. They sat on top of the picnic table pointing out constellations and throwing a tennis ball across the lawn for Sal. The scrapbook had done the rounds and was now beside Liam again.

It was a perfect evening and he was filled with happiness.

His mother was right; he was blessed. But he'd spent an evening staring at the stars like this before—that New Year's Eve when he and Ellie sat on the cold ground and talked about the future. Suddenly his happiness hurt. He gulped away sadness and snatched at another thought.

"Where do you think Rudi is?" he said, turning the tennis ball in his hands and ignoring Sal's expectant expression.

Mulder scratched his chin. "Wherever he is, I hope he's happy."

Liam made a face. "Hope's just about all you can have, isn't it?"

"Just about."

There were so many things to hope for: Liam hoped that the Grays never returned—he even hoped they found what they were desperately seeking. He hoped that everyone would forget about him and let him be; that he'd never have to use his ability again ...

"Do you think he'll ever come back?"

"I hope so. He'll have one hell of a story to tell."

Sal let out a bark, so Liam lobbed the ball over a fence. "But sometimes people don't. Come back, that is."

Mulder nodded. "Sometimes they don't."

"Sometimes they don't," Scully agreed. Her steps were so quiet Liam didn't hear her coming.

The swing door closed with a muted bang. His mother and grandmother had gone inside. He wondered how many letters his dad had written now.

"Are all obsessions bad?"

"Oh boy," said Scully under her breath as she perched herself beside him, settling the scrapbook in her lap.

"I don't know about good or bad," said Mulder. "But obsessions don't come cheap."

Liam nodded. "It's like Major Drummond said. Everything has a price tag."

"I think you'll find it was the much more fetching Jesse J who said that."

Liam elbowed the man who was his father first. "You know what I mean."

"Why this talk about obsession? Your dad just needs to get a few letters out of his system. He's a sensible man. He'll move on soon enough."

"It's not dad." Liam looked at his knees. "It's "Ellie."

"Ah."

"I have to find her."

Scully broke first. "Liam, you know—"

"It's the right thing to do. _You_ made a promise, didn't you, Scully? You promised to protect me and Mom and Dad."

"That was different—I knew you were—"

"Alive?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie."

"It's okay." He squeezed her hand to let her know it was true. "I know she might not be alive, but I _feel_ she is."

Mulder stayed silent as a satellite glided across the sky. When it disappeared, he spoke. "It won't be easy."

"That's no reason not to try."

"No, it isn't. But, Liam, there are some promises you can't keep—no matter how hard you try. There are some things you have to learn to let go."

"If Rudi is out there, Ellie could be too. I'll never be able to forget her."

"I don't suppose you will."

"Will you help me?"

"Liam—"

"I know everything has a price. I'll pay it. Even when I'm thirty and grown up, I'll still feel the same."

"If that's the case ..." Mulder pulled out his new smartphone and jabbed at it.

Liam couldn't see the message he was writing. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see."

Idly Liam took the scrapbook from Scully; he ran his finger along the cup's circle indent. He thought of Jerry and the little frog's incredible journey and how he hadn't known enough then to save him. Pain flared again. Some promises you couldn't keep.

Mulder's phone beeped. He handed it to Liam. "It's for you."

"Who—"

"Look."

Liam lifted the phone to read the text. The message glowed at him, two words taunting him and filling him with hope all at once.

_Hey brat._

Only one person spoke to him like that.

"That's impossible—he's dead ..."

"There are no easy answers, Liam," Scully said.

Mulder finished for her. "But—if you're lucky—there are good, good friends."

Mulder brushed Liam's shoulder as he leaned back. Liam knew Mulder and Scully were holding hands behind him. He decided not to tease them.

"And if you're really, really lucky there are good parents." Liam grinned and hugged the scrapbook to his chest. There were promises you couldn't keep ... and there were promises where you had to try, no matter what. And this was one of those.

_I will find you, Ellie. I_ will _._

And he knew it was the truth.

**THE END**


End file.
